LIBRARY 

University  of  California 
IRVINE 


BOOKS  BY 
REX    BEACH 

THE  NET.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo.    .    .     net  $1.30 

THE  NE'ER-DO  WELL.  Ill'd.  Post  8vo.  net  1.25 

THE  SPOILERS.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo.     .  1.50 

THE   BARRIER.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo.    .  1.50 

THE  SILVER  HORDE.    Ill'd.    Post  8vo.    .  1.50 

GOING    SOME.    Post  8vo.    .  1.25 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


(See  page  69 
'l    DO    NOT    KNOW    WHY    I    HAVE    SUMMONED    YOU,"    SHE    SAID 


A     NOVEL 


BY 

/ 


Al'TIflTR  OF 

"THE  SPOILERS"  "THE  BARRIER' 
"THE  SILVER.  HORDE"   ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON 

M  C  M  X  I  I 


ps 
3503 


COPYRIGHT.     1912.     BY    HARPER    C.     BROTHERS 


PUBLISHED    OCTOBER.    1912 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  TRAIN  FROM  PALERMO i 

II.  A  CONFESSION  AND  A  PROMISE 15 

III.  THE  GOLDEN  GIRL 27 

IV.  THE  FEAST  AT  TERRANOVA 37 

V.  WHAT  WAITED  AT  THE  ROADSIDE 50 

VI.  A  NEW  RESOLVE 64 

VII.  THE  SEARCH  BEGINS 79 

VIII.  OLD  TRAILS 93 

IX.  "ONE  WHO  KNOWS" 109 

X.  MYRA  NELL  WARREN 120 

XI.  THE  KIDNAPPING 134 

XII.  LA  MAFIA 149 

XIII.  THE  BLOOD  OF  His  ANCESTORS 163 

XIV.  THE  NET  TIGHTENS 176 

XV.  THE  END  OF  THE  QUEST 188 

XVI.  QUARANTINE 200 

XVII.  AN  OBLIGATION  Is  MET 212 

XVIII.  BELISARIO  CARDI 224 

XIX.  FELICIT^ 238 

XX.  THE  MAN  IN  THE  SHADOWS 255 

XXL     UNDER  FIRE 267 

XXII.  A  MISUNDERSTANDING 277 

XXIII.  THE  TRIAL  AND  THE  VERDICT 290 

XXIV.  AT  THE  FEET  OF  THE  STATUE 303 

XXV.  THE  APPEAL 313 

XXVI.  AT  THE  DUSK 325 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"l  DO  NOT  KNOW  WHY  I  HAVE  SUMMONED  YOU,"  SHE  SAID  Frontispiece 
"SILENZIO!"  HE  GROWLED,  "l  PLAY  MY  OWN  GAME,  AND 

I  LOSE" Facing  p.  228 

HE  WRESTLED  FOR  POSSESSION  OF  THE  GUN  ....  "  268 
"P-PLEASE  DON'T  KILL  YOURSELF,  DEAR?  I  COULDN'T 

HELP   IT"          "         328 


THE  NET 


THE   NET 


THE   TRAIN   FROM   PALERMO 

THE  train  from  Palermo  was  late.  Already  long, 
shadowy  fingers  were  reaching  down  the  valleys  across 
which  the  railroad  track  meandered.  Far  to  the  left,  out 
of  an  opalescent  sea,  rose  the  fairy-like  Lipari  Islands, 
and  in  the  farthest  distance  Stromboli  lifted  its  smoking 
cone  above  the  horizon.  On  the  landward  side  of  the 
train,  as  it  reeled  and  squealed  along  its  tortuous  course, 
were  gray  and  gold  Sicilian  villages  perched  high  against 
the  hills  or  drowsing  among  fields  of  artichoke  and  sumac 
and  prickly  pear. 

To  one  familiar  with  modern  Sicilian  railway  trains  the 
journey  eastward  from  Palermo  promises  no  considerable 
discomfort,  but  twenty-five  years  ago  it  was  not  to  be 
lightly  undertaken — not  to  be  undertaken  at  all,  in  fact, 
without  an  unusual  equipment  of  patience  and  a  resigna 
tion  entirely  lacking  in  the  average  Anglo-Saxon.  It 
was  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  Norvin  Blake,  as  the 
hours  dragged  along,  should  remark  less  and  less  upon 
the  beauties  of  the  island  and  more  and  more  upon  the 
medieval  condition  of  the  rickety  railroad  coach  in  which 
he  was  shaken  and  buffeted  about.  He  shifted  himself 
to  an  easier  position  upon  the  seat  and  lighted  a  cheroot ; 
1  i 


THE    NET 

for  although  this  was  his  first  glimpse  of  Sicily,  he  had 
watched  the  same  villages  come  and  go  all  through  a  long, 
hot  afternoon,  had  seen  the  same  groves  of  orange  and 
lemon  and  dust-green  olive-trees,  the  same  fields  of  Barbary 
figs,  the  same  rose-grown  garden  spots,  until  he  was 
heartily  tired  of  them  all.  He  felt  at  liberty  to  smoke, 
for  the  only  other  occupant  of  the  compartment  was  a 
young  priest  in  flowing  mantle  and  silk  beaver  hat. 

Finding  that  Blake  spoke  Italian  remarkably  well  for  a 
foreigner,  the  priest  had  shown  an  earnest  desire  for 
closer  acquaintance  and  now  plied  him  eagerly  with 
questions,  hanging  upon  his  answers  with  a  childlike  in 
tensity  of  gaze  which  at  first  had  been  amusing. 

"And  so  the  Signore  has  traveled  all  the  way  from 
Paris  to  attend  the  wedding  at  Terranova.  Veramente! 
That  is  a  great  journey.  Many  wonderful  adventures 
befell  you,  perhaps.  Eh?"  The  priest's  little  eyes 
gleamed  from  his  full  cheeks,  and  he  edged  forward  until 
his  knees  crowded  Blake's.  It  was  evident  that  he  antici 
pated  a  thrilling  tale  and  did  not  intend  to  be  disappointed. 

"It  was  very  tiresome,  that's  all,  and  the  beggars  at 
Naples  nearly  tore  me  asunder." 

"Incredible!     You  will  tell  me  about  it?" 

"There's  nothing  to  tell.  These  European  trains 
cannot  compare  with  ours." 

Evidently  discouraged  at  this  lack  of  response,  the 
questioner  tried  a  new  line  of  approach. 

"The  Signore  is  perhaps  related  to  our  young  Conte?" 
he  suggested.  "And  yet  that  can  scarcely  be,  for  you  are 
Inglese — 

"Americano." 

"Indeed?" 

"Martel  and  I  are  close  friends,  however.  We  met  in 
Paris.  We  are  almost  like  brothers." 

"Truly !  I  have  heard  that  he  spends  much  time  study 
ing  to  be  a  great  painter.  It  is  very  strange,  but  many  of 

2 


THE    TRAIN    FROM    PALERMO 

our  rich  people  leave  Sicily  to  reside  elsewhere.  As  for 
me,  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"Martel  left  when  his  father  was  killed.  He  says  this 
country  is  behind  the  times,  and  he  prefers  to  be  out  in  the 
world  where  there  is  life  and  where  things  progress." 

But  the  priest  showed  by  a  blank  stare  that  he  did  not 
begin  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  this  statement.  He  shook 
his  head.  "He  was  always  a  wild  lad.  Now  as  to  the 
Signorina  Ginini,  who  is  to  be  his  beautiful  Contessa,  she 
loves  Sicily.  She  has  spent  most  of  her  life  here  among 
us." 

With  a  flash  of  interest  Blake  inquired: 

"What  is  she  like?  Martel  has  spoken  of  her  a  great 
many  times,  but  one  can't  place  much  dependence  on  a 
lover's  description." 

"Bellissima!"  the  priest  sighed,  and  rolled  his  eyes 
eloquently.  "You  have  never  seen  anything  like  her,  I 
assure  you.  She  is  altogether  too  beautiful.  If  I  had 
my  way  all  the  beautiful  women  would  be  placed  in  a 
convent  where  no  man  could  see  them.  Then  there  would 
be  no  fighting  and  no  flirting,  and  the  plain  women  could 
secure  husbands.  Beautiful  women  are  dangerous.  She 
is  rich,  too." 

"Of  course!  That's  what  Martel  says, and  that  is  ex 
actly  the  way  he  says  it.  But  describe  her." 

"Oh,  I  have  never  seen  her!  I  merely  know  that  she 
is  very  rich  and  very  beautiful."  He  went  off  into  a 
number  of  rapturous  "issimas!"  "Now  as  for  the 
Conte,  I  know  him  like  a  book.  I  know  his  every 
thought." 

"But  Martel  has  been  abroad  for  ten  years,  and  he  has 
only  returned  within  a  month." 

"To  be  sure,  but  I  come  from  the  village  this  side  of 
San  Sebastiano,  and  my  second  cousin  Ricardo  is  his 
uomo  d'  affare — his  overseer.  It  is  a  very  great 
position  of  trust  which  Ricardo  occupies,  for  I 

3 


THE   NET 

must  tell  you  that  he  attends  to  the  leasing  of  the 
entire  estate  during  the  Conte's  absence  in  France,  or 
wherever  it  is  he  draws  those  marvelous  pictures.  Ricardo 
collects  the  rents."  With  true  Sicilian  naivete  the  priest 
added : ' '  He  is  growing  rich !  Beato  lui !  He  for  one  will  not 
need  to  go  to  your  golden  America.  Is  it  true,  Signore, 
that  in  America  any  one  who  wishes  may  be  rich?" 

"Quite  true,"  smiled  the  young  man.  "Even  our 
beggars  are  rich." 

The  priest  wagged  his  head  knowingly.  " My  mother's 
cousin,  Alfio  Amato,  he  is  an  American.  You  know  him?" 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"But  surely — he  has  been  in  America  these  five  years. 
A  tall,  dark  fellow  with  fine  teeth.  Think!  He  is  such  a 
liar  any  one  would  remember  him.  Ebbene!  He  wrote 
that  there  were  poor  people  in  America  as  here,  but  we 
knew  him  too  well  to  believe  him." 

"I  suppose  every  one  knows  about  the  marriage?" 

"Oh,  indeed!  It  will  unite  two  old  families — two  rich 
families.  You  know  the  Savigni  are  rich  also.  Even 
before  the  children  were  left  as  orphans  it  was  settled  that 
they  should  be  married.  What  a  great  fortune  that  will 
make  for  Ricardo  to  oversee!  Then,  perhaps,  he  will 
be  more  generous  to  his  own  people.  He  is  a  hard  man  in 
money  matters,  and  a  man  of  action  also ;  he  does  not  allow 
flies  to  sit  upon  his  nose.  He  sent  his  own  daughter 
Lucrezia  to  Terranova  when  the  Contessa  was  still  a  child, 
and  what  is  the  result?  Lucrezia  is  no  longer  a  servant. 
Indeed  no,  she  is  more  like  a  sister  to  the  Signorina.  At 
the  marriage  no  doubt  she  will  receive  a  fine  present,  and 
Ricardo  as  well.  He  is  as  silent  as  a  Mafioso,  but  he 
thinks." 

Young  Blake  stretched  his  tired  muscles,  yawning. 

"I'm  sorry  Martel  couldn't  marry  in  France;  this  has 
been  a  tedious  trip." 

"It  was  the  Contessa 's  wish,  then,  to  be  wed  in  Sicily?" 

4 


THE   TRAIN   FROM   PALERMO 

"I  believe  she  insisted.  And  Martel  agreed  that  it 
was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  since  they  are  both  Sicilians. 
He  was  determined  also  that  I  should  be  present  to  share 
his  joy,  and  so  here  I  am.  Between  you  and  me,  I  envy 
him  his  lot  so  much  that  it  almost  spoils  for  me  the  pleasure 
of  this  unique  journey." 

"You  are  an  original ! "  murmured  the  priest,  admiringly, 
but  it  was  evident  that  his  thirst  for  knowledge  of  the 
outside  world  was  not  to  be  so  easily  quenched,  for  he 
began  to  question  his  traveling  companion  closely  re 
garding  America,  Paris,  the  journey  thence,  the  ship 
which  bore  him  to  Palermo,  and  a  dozen  other  subjects 
upon  which  his  active  mind  preyed.  He  was  full  of  the 
gossip  of  the  countryside,  moreover,  and  Norvin  learned 
much  of  interest  about  Sicily  and  the  disposition  of  her 
people.  One  phenomenon  to  which  the  good  man  re 
ferred  with  the  extremest  wonder  was  Blake's  intimacy 
with  a  Sicilian  nobleman.  How  an  American  signore  had 
become  such  a  close  friend  of  the  illustrious  Conte,  who 
was  almost  a  stranger,  even  to  his  own  people,  seemed 
very  puzzling  indeed,  until  Norvin  explained  that  they 
had  been  together  almost  constantly  during  the  past  three 
years. 

"We  met  quite  by  chance,  but  we  quickly  became 
friends — what  in  my  country  we  call  chums — and  we 
have  been  inseparable  ever  since." 

"And  you,  then,  are  also  a  great  artist?" 

Blake  laughed  at  the  indirect  compliment  to  his  friend. 

"I  am  not  an  artist  at  all.  I  have  been  exiled  to 
Europe  for  three  years,  upon  my  mother's  orders.  She 
has  her  own  ideas  regarding  a  man 's  education  and  wishes 
me  to  acquire  a  Continental  polish.  My  ability  to  tell 
you  all  this  shows  that  I  have  at  least  made  progress  with 
the  languages,  although  I  have  doubts  about  the  practical 
value  of  anything  else  I  have  learned.  Martel  has  taught 
me  Italian;  I  have  taught  him  English.  We  use  both, 

5 


THE    NET 

and  sometimes  we  understand  each  other.  My  three 
years  are  up  now,  and  once  I  have  seen  my  good  friend 
safely  married  I  shall  return  to  America  and  begin  the 
serious  business  of  life." 

"You  are  then  in  business?  My  mother's  cousin, 
Alfio  Amato,  is  likewise  a  business  man.  He  deals  in 
fruit.  Beware  of  him,  for  he  would  sell  you  rotten  oranges 
and  swear  by  the  saints  that  they  were  excellent." 

"Like  Martel,  I  have  land  which  I  lease.  I  am,  or 
I  will  be,  a  cotton-planter." 

This  opened  a  new  field  of  inquiry  for  the  priest,  who 
was  making  the  most  of  it  when  the  train  drew  into  a 
station  and  was  stormed  by  a  horde  of  chattering  country 
folk.  The  platform  swarmed  with  vividly  dressed  women, 
most  of  whom  carried  bundles  wrapped  up  in  variegated 
handkerchiefs,  and  all  of  whom  were  tremendously  ex 
cited  at  the  prospect  of  travel.  Lean-visaged,  swarthy 
men  peered  forth  from  the  folds  of  shawls  or  from  be 
neath  shapeless  caps  of  many  colors;  a  pair  of  carabinieri 
idled  past,  a  soldier  in  jaunty  feathered  hat  posed  before 
the  contadini.  Dogs,  donkeys,  fowls  added  their  clamor 
to  the  high-pitched  voices. 

Twilight  had  settled  and  lights  were  kindling  in  the 
village,  while  the  heights  above  were  growing  black 
against  a  rose-pink  and  mother-of-pearl  sky.  The  air  was 
cool  and  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  growing  things  and 
the  open  sea  glowed  with  a  subdued,  pulsating  fire. 

The  capo  stazione  rushed  madly  back  and  forth  striving 
by  voice  and  gesture  to  hasten  the  movements  of  his 
passengers. 

"Partenza!  Pronto!"  he  cried,  then  blew  furiously 
upon  his  bugle. 

After  a  series  of  shudders  and  convulsions  the  train 
began  to  hiss  and  clank  and  finally  crept  on  into  the  twi 
light,  while  the  priest  sat  knee  to  knee  with  his  companion 
and  resumed  his  endless  questioning. 

6 


THE    TRAIN    FROM    PALERMO 

It  was  considerably  after  dark  when  Norvin  Blake 
alighted  at  San  Sebastiano,  to  be  greeted  effusively  by  a 
young  man  of  about  his  own  age  who  came  charging 
through  the  gloom  and  embraced  him  with  a  great  hug. 

"So!  At  last  you  come!"  Savigno  cried.  "I  have 
been  here  these  three  hours  eating  my  heart  out,  and  every 
time  I  inquired  of  that  head  of  a  cabbage  in  yonder  he 
said,  'Pazienza!  The  world  was  not  made  in  a  day!' 

"  'But  when?  When?'  I  kept  repeating,  and  he  could 
only  assure  me  that  your  train  was  approaching  with  the 
speed  of  the  wind.  The  saints  in  heaven  —  even  the 
superintendent  of  the  railway  himself — could  not  tell  the 
exact  hour  of  its  arrival,  which,  it  seems,  is  never  twice 
the  same.  And  now,  yourself?  You  are  well?" 

" Never  better.  And  you?  But  there  is  no  need  to  ask. 
You  look  disgustingly  contented.  One  would  think  you 
were  already  married." 

Martel  Savigno  showed  a  row  of  even,  white  teeth 
beneath  his  military  mustache  and  clapped  his  friend 
affectionately  on  the  back. 

"It  is  good  to  be  among  my  own  people.  I  find,  after 
all,  that  I  am  a  Sicilian.  But  let  me  tell  you,  that  train 
is  not  always  late.  Once,  seven  years  ago,  it  arrived 
upon  the  moment.  There  were  no  passengers  at  the 
station  to  meet  it,  however,  so  it  was  forced  to  wait,  and 
now,  in  order  to  keep  our  good-will  it  always  arrives 
thus." 

The  Count  was  a  well-set-up  youth  of  an  alert  and 
active  type,  tall,  dark,  and  vivacious,  with  a  skin  as  smooth 
as  a  girl's.  He  had  an  impulsive,  energetic  nature 
that  seldom  left  him  in  repose,  and  hence  the  contrast 
between  the  two  men  was  marked,  for  Blake  was  of  a 
more  serious  cast  of  features  and  possessed  a  decidedly 
Anglo-Saxon  reserve.  He  was  much  the  heavier  in 
build,  also,  which  detracted  from  his  height  and  robbed 
him  of  that  elegance  which  distinguished  the  young 

7 


THE    NET 

Sicilian.  Yet  the  two  made  a  fine-looking  pair  as  they 
stood  face  to  face  in  the  yellow  glare  of  the  station  lights. 

"What  the  deuce  made  me  agree  to  this  trip,  I  don't 
know,"  the  American  declared.  "It  was  vile.  I've 
been  carsick,  seasick,  homesick — 

"And  all  for  poor,  lovesick  Martel!"  The  Count 
laughed.  "Ah,  but  if  you  knew  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you!" 

"Really?  Then  that  squares  it."  Blake  spoke  with 
that  indefinable  undernote  which  creeps  into  men's  voices 
when  friend  meets  friend.  "I've  been  lost  without  you, 
too.  I  was  quite  ashamed  of  myself." 

The  Count  turned  to  a  middle-aged  man  who  had  re 
mained  in  the  shadows,  saying: 

"This  is  Ricardo  Ferara,  my  good  right  hand,  of  whom 
you  have  heard  me  speak."  The  overseer  raised  his  hat, 
and  Blake  took  his  hand,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  grizzled 
face  and  a  stiff  mop  of  iron-gray  hair.  "You  will  see  to 
Signore  Blake's  baggage,  Ricardo.  Michele!  Ippolito!" 
the  Count  called.  "  The  carretta,  quickly!  And  now,  caro 
Norvin,  for  the  last  leg  of  your  journey.  Will  you  ride 
in  the  cart  or  on  horseback  ?  It  is  not  far,  but  the  roads 
are  steep." 

' '  Horseback,  by  all  means.     My  muscles  need  exercise. ' ' 

The  young  men  mounted  a  pair  of  compact  Sicilian 
horses,  which  were  held  by  still  another  man  in  the  street 
behind  the  depot,  and  set  off  up  the  winding  road  which 
climbed  to  the  village  above.  Blake  regretted  the  late 
ness  of  the  hour,  which  prevented  him  from  gaining  an 
adequate  idea  of  his  surroundings.  He  could  see,  how 
ever,  that  they  were  picturesque,  for  San  Sebastiano  lay 
in  a  tiny  step  hewed  out  of  the  mountain-side  and  was 
crowded  into  one  street  overlooking  the  railway  far  below 
and  commanding  a  view  of  the  sea  toward  the  Calabrian 
coast.  As  the  riders  clattered  through  the  poorly  lighted 
village,  Blake  saw  the  customary  low-roofed  houses,  the 


THE    TRAIN    FROM    PALERMO 

usual  squalid  side-streets,  more  like  steep  lanes  than 
thoroughfares,  and  heard  the  townspeople  pronouncing 
the  name  of  the  Count  of  Martinello,  while  the  ever- 
present  horde  of  urchins  fled  from  their  path.  A 
beggar  appeared  beside  his  stirrup,  crying,  "I  die  of 
hunger,  your  worship."  But  the  fellow  ran  with  sur 
prising  vigor  and  manifested  a  degree  of  endurance 
quite  unexampled  in  a  starving  man.  A  glimpse  of  these, 
and  then  the  lights  were  left  behind  and  they  were  moving 
swiftly  upward  and  into  the  mountains,  skirting  walls  of 
stone  over  which  was  wafted  the  perfume  of  many  flowers, 
passing  fragrant  groves  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  and 
less  fragrant  cottages,  the  contents  of  which  were  bared 
to  their  eyes  with  utter  lack  of  modesty.  They  disturbed 
herds  of  drowsy  cattle  and  goats  lying  at  the  roadside, 
and  all  the  time  they  continued  to  climb,  until  their  horses 
heaved  and  panted. 

The  American's  impressions  of  this  entire  journey,  from 
the  time  of  his  leaving  Paris  up  to  the  present  moment,  had 
been  hurried  and  unreal,  for  he  had  made  close  connections 
at  Rome,  at  Naples,  and  at  Palermo.  Having  the 
leisurely  deliberateness  of  the  American  Southerner,  he 
disliked  haste  and  confusion  above  all  things.  He  had  an 
intense  desire,  therefore,  to  come  to  anchor  and  to  adjust 
himself  to  his  surroundings. 

As  Martel  chattered  along,  telling  of  his  many  doings, 
Blake  noted  that  Ricardo  and  the  man  who  had  held  the 
horses  were  following  closely.  Then,  as  the  cavalcade 
paused  at  length  to  breathe  their  mounts,  he  saw  that 
both  men  carried  rifles. 

"Why!  We  look  like  an  American  sheriff's  posse, 
Martel,"  said  he.  "Do  all  Sicilian  bridegrooms  travel 
with  an  armed  escort?" 

Savigno  showed  a  trace  of  hesitation.  "The  nights  are 
dark;  the  country  is  wild." 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  this  country  is  surely  old  enough 

0 


THE    NET 

to  be  safe.  Why,  Sicily  was  civilized  long  before  my 
country  was  even  heard  of.  All  sorts  of  ancient  gods 
and  heroes  used  to  live  here,  I  am  told,  and  I  supposed 
Diana  had  killed  all  the  game  long  ago." 

He  laughed,  but  Savigno  did  not  join  him,  and  a  moment 
later  they  were  under  way  again. 

After  a  brief  gallop  they  drew  up  at  a  big,  dark  house, 
hidden  among  the  deeper  shadows  of  many  trees,  and  in 
answer  to  Martel's  shout  a  wide  door  was  flung  back;  then 
by  the  light  which  streamed  forth  from  it  they  dis 
mounted  and  made  their  way  up  a  flight  of  stone  steps. 
Once  inside,  Savigno  exclaimed: 

"Welcome  to  my  birthplace!  A  thousand  welcomes!" 
Seizing  Norvin  by  the  shoulders,  he  whirled  him  about. 
"Let  me  see  you  once.  Ah!  I  am  glad  you  made  this 
sacrifice  for  me,  for  I  need  you  above  all  men."  His 
eyes,  though  bright  with  affection,  were  grave — something 
unusual  in  him— and  the  other  inquired,  quickly: 

"There's  nothing  wrong,  I  hope?" 

Savigno  tossed  his  head  and  smiled. 

"Wrong!  What  could  be  wrong  with  me  now  that  you 
are  here?  No!  All  is  quite  right,  but  I  have  been 
accursed  with  lonesomeness.  Something  was  lacking. 
It  was  you,  caro  mio.  Now,  however,  I  am  the  most 
contented  of  mortals.  But  you  must  be  famished,  so  I 
will  show  you  to  your  room  at  once.  Francesca  has  pro 
vided  a  feast  for  us,  I  assure  you." 

"Give  me  a  moment  to  look  around.  So  this  is  the 
castello?  Jove!  It's  ripping!" 

Blake  found  himself  in  a  great  hall  similar  to  many  he 
had  seen  in  his  European  wanderings,  but  ruder  and  older 
by  far.  He  judged  the  castello  to  be  of  Norman  build, 
but  remodeled  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  Savigni.  To  the 
right,  through  an  open  door,  he  saw  a  large  room  where  a 
fat  Sicilian  woman  was  laying  the  table;  to  the  left  was  a 
drawing-room  lighted  only  by  a  fire  of  fagots  in  a  huge, 

10 


THE   TRAIN    FROM    PALERMO 

black  fireplace,  the  furniture  showing  curiously  distorted 
in  the  long  shadows.  Other  rooms  opened  towards  the 
rear,  and  he  realized  that  the  old  place  was  very  large. 
It  was  unkempt  also,  and  showed  the  lack  of  a  woman's 
hand. 

"You  exaggerate!"  said  Savigno.  "After  Paris  the 
castello  will  seem  very  mean.  We  Sicilian!  do  not  live  in 
grand  style,  and,  besides,  I  have  spent  practically  no  time 
here,  since  my  father  (may  the  saints  receive  him)  left 
me  free  to  wander.  The  place  has  been  closed;  the  old 
servants  have  gone;  it  is  dilapidated." 

"On  the  contrary,  it's  just  the  sort  of  place  it  should 
be — venerable  and  overflowing  with  romance.  You  must 
rule  like  a  medieval  baron.  Why,  you  could  sell  this 
woodwork  to  some  millionaire  countryman  of  mine  for 
enough  to  realize  a  fortune." 

"Per  Dio!  If  taxes  are  not  reduced  I  shall  be  forced 
to  some  such  expedient,"  the  Count  laughed.  "It  was 
my  mother's  home,  it  is  my  birthplace,  so  I  love  it — even 
though  I  neglect  it.  As  you  perceive,  it  is  high  time  I 
took  a  wife.  But  enough !  If  you  are  lacking  in  appetite, 
I  am  not,  and  Francesca  is  an  unbearable  tyrant  when 
her  meals  grow  cold." 

He  led  his  friend  up  the  wide  stairs  and  left  him  to 
prepare  for  supper. 

"And  so  this  ends  it  all,"  said  Blake,  as  the  two  young 
men  lounged  in  the  big,  empty  drawing-room  later  that 
evening.  They  had  dined  and  gossiped  as  only  friends 
of  their  age  can  gossip,  had  relived  their  adventures  of  the 
past  three  years,  and  still  were  loath  to  part,  even  for 
sleep. 

"How  so?"  queried  Savigno.  "You  speak  of  marriage 
as  if  it  were  dissolution." 

"It  might  as  well  be,  so  far  as  the  other  fellow  is  con 
cerned." 

it 


THE    NET 

"Nonsense!     I  shall  not  change." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will !    Besides,  I  am  returning  to  America." 

"Even  so,  we  are  rich;  we  shall  travel;  we  shall  meet 
frequently.  You  will  come  to  Sicily.  Perhaps  the 
Contessa  and  I  may  even  go  to  America.  Friendship 
such  as  ours  laughs  at  the  leagues." 

But  Blake  was  pessimistic.  "Perhaps  she  won't  like 
me." 

Martel  laughed  at  this. 

"Impossible!  She  is  a  woman,  she  has  eyes,  she  will 
see  you  as  I  see  you.  More  than  that,  I  have  told  her 
that  she  must  love  you." 

"Then  that  does  settle  it!  You  have  hung  the  crepe 
on  our  future  intimacy,  for  good  and  all.  She  will  in 
struct  your  cook  to  put  a  spider  in  my  dumpling  or  to  do 
away  with  me  by  some  characteristic  Sicilian  method." 

Martel  seemed  puzzled  by  the  Americanism  of  this 
speech,  but  Norvin  merely  smiled  and  changed  to  Italian. 

"Do  you  really  love  her?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course!  Since  I  was  a  boy  so  high  I  have  known 
we  would  marry.  She  adores  me,  she  is  young,  she  is 
beautiful,  she  is — rich!" 

"In  Heaven's  name  don't  use  that  tone  in  speaking  of 
her  wealth.  You  make  me  doubt  you." 

"No,  no!"  The  Count  smiled.  "It  would  be  the 
same  if  she  were  a  peasant  girl.  We  shall  be  so  happy — 
oh,  there  is  no  expressing  how  happy  we  intend  being." 

"I've  no  doubt.  And  that  makes  it  quite  certain  to 
end  our  comradeship." 

"You  croak  like  a  raven !"  declared  the  Sicilian.  "What 
has  soured  you?" 

"  Nothing.  I  am  a  wise  young  man,  that's  all.  You  see, 
happiness  is  all-sufficient;  it  needs  nothing  to  complete 
itself.  It  is  a  wall  beyond  which  the  owner  does  not  care 
to  wander,  so,  when  you  are  quite  happy  with  the  new 
Countess,  you  will  forget  your  friends  of  unmarried  days." 

12 


THE   TRAIN   FROM    PALERMO 

"Would  you  then  have  me  unhappily  married?" 

"By  no  means.  I  am  full  of  regrets  at  losing  you, 
nothing  more." 

"It  is  plain,  then,  that  you  also  must  marry.  Is  there 
no  admirable  American  lady?" 

"Any  quantity  of  them,  but  I  don't  care  much  for 
women  except  in  an  impersonal  sort  of  way,  or  perhaps  I 
don't  attract  them.  I  might  enjoy  falling  in  love  if  it 
were  not  such  a  tedious  process." 

"It  is  not  necessarily  tedious.  One  may  love  with 
the  suddenness  of  an  explosion.  I  have  done  so,  many 
times." 

"I  know  you  have,  but  you  are  a  Sicilian;  we  go 
about  such  things  in  a  dignified  and  respectable  manner. 
Love  is  a  serious  matter  with  us.  We  don't  explode." 

"Yes.  When  you  love,  you  marry;  and  you  marry 
in  the  same  way  you  buy  a  farm.  But  we  have  blood 
in  our  veins  and  lime  in  our  bones.  I  have  loved  many 
women  to  distraction;  there  is  only  one  whom  I  would 
marry. ' ' 

Ricardo  entered  at  the  moment,  and  the  Count  arose 
with  a  word  of  apology  to  his  guest.  He  spoke  earnestly 
with  his  overseer,  but,  as  they  were  separated  from  him 
by  the  full  width  of  the  great  room,  Blake  overheard  no 
more  than  a  word  now  and  then.  They  were  speaking 
in  the  Sicilian  dialect,  moreover,  which  was  unfamiliar 
to  him,  yet  he  caught  the  mention  of  Ippolito,  one  of  the 
men  who  had  met  him  at  the  station,  also  of  an  orange- 
grove,  and  the  word  "Mafioso."  Then  he  heard  Martel 
say: 

"The  shells  for  the  new  rifle — Ippolito  is  a  bad  shot — 
take  plenty." 

When  Ricardo  had  gone  and  the  Count  had  returned  to 
his  seat,  Norvin  fancied  he  detected  once  more  that  grave 
look  he  had  surprised  in  his  friend's  countenance  upon 
their  arrival  at  the  castello. 

13 


THE    NET 

"What  were  you  telling  Ricardo  about  rifles  and 
cartridges?"  he  inquired. 

"Eh?  It  was  nothing.  We  are  forced  to  guard  our 
oranges;  there  are  thieves  about.  I  have  been  too  long 
away  from  Martinello." 

Later,  as  Norvin  Blake  composed  himself  to  sleep  he 
wondered  idly  if  Martel  had  told  him  the  whole  truth. 
He  recalled  again  the  faint,  grave  lines  that  had  gathered 
about  the  Count's  eyes,  where  there  had  never  been  aught 
but  wrinkles  of  merriment,  and  he  recalled  also  that  word 
"Mafioso."  It  conjured  memories  of  certain  tales  he 
had  heard  of  Sicilian  outlawry  and  brigandage,  and  of 
that  evil,  shadowy  society  of  "Friends"  which  he  under 
stood  dominated  this  island.  There  was  a  story  about  the 
old  Count's  death  also,  but  Martel  had  never  told  him 
much.  Norvin  tried  to  remember  what  it  was,  but  sleep 
was  heavy  upon  him  and  he  soon  gave  up. 


II 

A   CONFESSION   AND   A   PROMISE 

NORVIN  BLAKE  slept  soundly,  as  befitted  a  healthy  young 
man  with  less  than  the  usual  number  of  cares  upon  his 
mind,  and,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  had  retired 
at  a  late  hour,  somewhat  worn  by  his  journey,  he  awoke 
earlier  than  usual.  Still  lacking  an  adequate  idea  of  his 
surroundings,  he  arose  and,  flinging  back  the  blinds  of 
his  window,  looked  out  upon  a  scene  which  set  him  to 
dressing  eagerly. 

The  big  front  door  of  the  hall  below  was  barred  when 
he  came  down,  and  only  yielded  to  his  efforts  with  a 
clanging  which  would  have  awakened  any  one  except 
Martel,  letting  him  out  upon  a  well-kept  terrace  beneath 
which  the  hills  fell  away  in  majestic  sweeps  and  curves 
to  the  coast-line  far  beneath. 

It  was  a  true  Sicilian  morning,  filled  with  a  dazzling 
glory  of  color,  and  although  it  was  not  early,  from  a 
countryman's  point  of  view,  the  dewy  freshness  had  not 
entirely  faded,  and  rosy  tints  still  lingered  in  the  valleys 
and  against  the  Calabrian  coast  in  the  distance.  An  odor 
of  myrtle  and  jessamine  came  from  a  garden  beneath  the 
outer  terrace  wall,  and  on  either  side  of  the  manor  rose 
wooded  hills  the  lower  slopes  of  which  were  laid  out  in 
vineyards  and  groves  of  citrus  fruits. 

Having  in  full  measure  the  normal  man's  unaffected 
appreciation  of  nature,  Blake  found  himself  wondering 
how  Martel  could  ever  leave  this  spot  for  the  artificialities 
of  Paris.  The  Count  was  amply  able  to  live  where  he 

15 


THE    NET 

chose,  and  it  was  no  love  for  art  which  had  kept  him  in 
France  these  many  years.  On  the  contrary,  they  had 
both  recognized  the  mediocrity  of  his  talent  and  had  often 
joked  about  it.  It  was  perhaps  no  more  than  a  youthful 
restlessness  and  craving  for  excitement,  he  concluded. 

Knowing  that  his  luxurious  host  would  not  be  stirring 
for  another  hour,  he  set  out  to  explore  the  place  at  his 
leisure,  and  in  time  came  around  to  the  stables  and  out 
houses.  It  is  not  the  front  of  any  residence  which  shows 
its  real  character,  any  more  than  a  woman's  true  nature 
is  displayed  by  her  Sunday  attire.  Norvin  made  friends 
with  a  surly,  stiff-haired  dog,  then  with  a  patriarchal  old 
goat  which  he  found  grazing  atop  a  wall,  and  at  last  he 
encountered  Francesca  bearing  a  bundle  of  fagots  upon 
her  head. 

She  was  in  a  bad  temper,  it  appeared,  for  in  answer  to 
his  cheerful  greeting  she  began  to  revile  the  names  of 
Ippolito  and  Michele. 

"Lazy  pigs!"  she  cried,  fiercely.  "Is  it  not  sufficient 
that  old  Francesca  should  bare  her  bones  and  become  a 
shadow  with  the  cares  of  the  household?  Is  it  not 
sufficient  that  she  performs  the  labor  of  twenty  in  caring 
for  the  padrone?  No!  Is  it  not  the  devil's  task  to 
prepare  the  many  outlandish  delicacies  he  learned  to  eat 
in  his  travels  ?  Yes !  Ha !  What  of  that !  She  must  also 
perform  the  duties  of  an  ass  and  bear  wood  for  the  fires! 
And  what,  think  you,  those  two  young  giants  are  doing 
all  the  day?  Sleeping,  Si'or!  Up  all  night,  asleep  all 
day!  A  fine  business.  And  Francesca  with  a  broken 
back!" 

"I'll  carry  your  wood,"  he  offered,  at  which  the  moun 
tainous  old  woman  stared  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  in  the 
least  comprehend  his  words.  Although  her  burden  was 
enough  to  tax  a  man's  strength,  she  balanced  it  easily 
upon  her  head  and  made  no  move  to  go. 

"And  the  others!  May  they  all  be  blinded — Attilio, 

16 


A    CONFESSION    AND    A    PROMISE 

Gaspare,  Roberto!  The  hangman  will  get  them,  surely. 
Briganti,  indeed!"  She  snorted  like  a  horse.  "May 
Belisario  Cardi  roast  them  over  these  very  fagots." 
Slowly  she  moved  her  head  from  side  to  side  while  the 
bundle  swayed  precariously.  "It  is  a  bad  business, 
Si'or.  The  padrone  is  mad  to  resist.  You  may  tell  him 
he  is  quite  mad.  Mark  me,  Ricardo  knows  that  no  good 
will  come  of  it,  but  he  is  like  a  bull  when  he  is  angry.  He 
lowers  his  head  and  sees  blood.  Veramente,  it  is  a  bad 
business  and  we  shall  all  lose  our  ears."  She  moved  off 
majestically,  her  eyes  rolling  in  her  fat  cheeks,  her  lips 
moving ;  leaving  the  American  to  speculate  as  to  what  her 
evil  prediction  had  to  do  with  Ippolito  and  the  firewood. 

He  was  still  smiling  at  her  anger  when  Ippolito  himself, 
astride  a  horse,  came  clattering  into  the  courtyard  and 
dismounted  stiffly,  giving  him  a  good  morning  with  a 
wide  yawn. 

"Corpo  di  Baccho!"  exclaimed  the  rider.  "I  shall  sleep 
for  a  century."  He  stretched  luxuriously  and,  unslinging 
a  gun  from  his  shoulder,  leaned  it  against  the  wall.  Blake 
was  surprised  to  find  it  a  late  model  of  an  American  re 
peating  rifle.  "Francesca!"  he  called  loudly.  "Madonna 
mia,  I  am  famished!" 

"Francesca  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  Norvin  volun 
teered.  "  In  a  frightful  temper,  too." 

"Just  so!  It  was  the  wood,  I  presume."  He  scowled. 
"  One  cannot  be  in  ten  places  unless  he  is  in  ten  pieces.  I 
am  glad  to  be  here,  and  not  here  and  there." 

"Well,  she  wants  you  roasted  by  some  fellow  named 
Cardi—" 

"Eh?  What?"  Ippolito  started,  jerking  the  horse's 
head  by  the  bridle  rein,  through  which  he  had  thrust  his 
arm.  "What  is  this?" 

' '  Belisario  Cardi,  I  believe  she  said.     I  don't  know  him. ' ' 

The  Sicilian  muttered  an  oath  and  disappeared  into 
the  stable;  he  was  still  scowling  when  he  emerged. 

0!  17 


THE    NET 

Prompted  by  a  feeling  that  he  was  close  to  something 
mysterious,  Blake  tried  to  sound  the  fellow. 

"You  are  abroad  early,"  he  suggested. 

But  Ippolito  seemed  in  no  mood  for  conversation,  and 
merely  replied: 

"Si,  Signore,  quite  early." 

He  was  a  lean,  swarthy  youth,  square-jawed  and  well 
put  up.  Although  his  clothes  were  poor,  he  wore  them  with 
a  certain  grace  and  moved  like  a  man  who  is  sure  of  him 
self. 

"  Did  you  see  any  robbers?" 

"Robbers?"  Ippolito's  look  was  one  of  quick  suspicion. 
"Who  has  ever  seen  a  robber?" 

"Come,  come!  I  heard  the  Count  and  Ricardo  talking. 
You  have  been  away,  among  the  orange-groves,  all  night. 
Am  I  right?" 

"You  are  right." 

"Tell  me,  is  it  common  thieves  or  outlaws  whom  you 
watch?  I  have  heard  about  your  brigands." 

"Ippolito!"  came  the  harsh  voice  of  Ricardo,  who  at 
that  moment  appeared  around  the  corner  of  the  stable. 
"In  the  kitchen  you  will  find  food." 

Ippolito  bowed  to  the  American  and  departed,  his 
rifle  beneath  his  arm. 

Blake  turned  his  attention  to  the  overseer,  for  his 
mind,  once  filled  with  an  idea,  was  not  easily  satisfied. 
But  Ricardo  would  give  him  no  information.  He  raised 
his  bushy,  gray  eyebrows  at  the  American's  question. 

"Brigands?     Ippolito  is  a  great  liar." 

Seeing  the  angry  sparkle  in  the  old  fellow's  eyes, 
Norvin  hastened  to  say: 

"He  told  me  nothing,  I  assure  you." 

"Thieves,  yes!  We  have  ladri  here,  as  elsewhere. 
Sometimes  it  is  well  to  take  precautions." 

"But  Francesca  was  quite  excited,  and  I  heard  you  and 
Martel  mention  La  Mafia  last  night,"  Blake  persisted. 

18 


A   CONFESSION    AND    A    PROMISE 

"I  see  you  all  go  armed.     I  am  naturally  curious.     I 
thought  you  might  be  in  trouble  with  the  society." 

"Children's  tales!"  said  Ricardo,  gruffly.  "There  is 
no  society  of  La  Mafia." 

"Oh,  see  here!  We  have  it  even  in  my  own  country. 
The  New  Orleans  papers  have  been  full  of  stories  about 
the  Mala  Vita,  the  Mafia,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
it.  There  is  a  big  Italian  population  there,  you  know, 
and  they  are  causing  our  police  a  great  deal  of  worry.  I 
live  in  Louisiana,  so  I  ought  to  know.  We  understand 
it's  an  offshoot  of  the  Sicilian  Mafia." 

"In  Naples  I  hear  there  is  a  Camorra.  But  this  is 
Sicily.  We  have  no  societies." 

"Nevertheless,  I  heard  you  say  something  about 
'Mafioso'  last  night,"  Blake  insisted. 

"Perhaps,"  grudgingly  admitted  the  overseer.  "But 
La  Mafia  is  not  a  man,  not  a  society,  as  you  say.  It 
is —  He  made  a  wide  gesture.  "It  is  all  Sicily.  You 
do  not  understand." 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"Very  well.  One  does  not  speak  of  it.  Would  the 
Signore  care  to  see  the  horses?" 

' '  Thank  you,  yes . ' ' 

The  two  went  into  the  stables  together,  and  Blake  for 
the  time  gave  up  the  hope  of  learning  anything  further 
about  Sicilian  brigandage.  Nor  did  Martel  show  any 
willingness  to  enlighten  him  when  he  tentatively  intro 
duced  the  subject  at  breakfast,  but  laughingly  turned 
the  conversation  into  another  channel. 

"To-day  you  shall  see  the  star  of  my  life,"  he  de 
clared.  "Be  prepared  to  worship  as  all  men  do." 

"Assuredly." 

"And  promise  you  will  not  fall  in  love." 

"Is  that  why  you  discouraged  my  coming  until  a 
week  before  your  wedding?  Really,  if  she  is  all  you 
claim,  we  might  have  been  such  delightful  enemies." 

19 


THE    NET 

"Enemies  are  never  that,"  said  the  Count,  gravely. 
"I  know  men  in  my  country  who  cherish  their  enemies 
like  friends.     They  seem  to  enjoy  them  tremendously, 
until  one  or  the  other  has  passed  on  to  glory.     Even  then 
they  are  highly  spoken  of." 

"I  am  impatient  for  you  to  see  her.  She,  of  course, 
has  many  preparations  to  make,  for  the  wedding-day  is 
almost  here;  but  it  is  arranged  that  we  are  to  dine  there 
to-night  with  her  and  her  aunt,  the  Donna  Teresa.  Ah, 
Norvin  mine,  seven  days  separate  me  from  Paradise. 
You  can  judge  of  my  ecstasy.  The  hours  creep,  the 
moments  are  leaden.  Each  night  when  I  retire,  I  feel 
faithless  in  allowing  sleep  to  rob  my  thoughts  of  her. 
When  I  awake  it  is  with  the  consolation  that  more  of  those 
miserable  hours  have  crept  away.  I  am  like  a  man 
insane." 

"I  am  beginning  to  think  you  really  are  so." 
"  Diamine  !    Wait  !    You  have  not  seen  her.     We  are 
to  be  married  by  a  bishop." 

"No  doubt  that  will  insure  your  happiness." 
"A  marriage  like  this  does  not  occur  every  day.     It 
will  be  an  event,  I  tell  you." 

"  And  you're  sure  I  won't  be  in  the  way  this  evening?" 
"No,  no!  It  is  arranged.  She  is  waiting — expecting 
you.  She  knows  you  already.  This  morning,  however, 
you  will  amuse  yourself — will  you  not? — for  I  must  ride 
down  to  San  Sebastiano  and  meet  the  colonel  of  carabi- 
nieri  from  Messina." 

"  Certainly.     Don't  mind  me." 
Martel  hesitated  an  instant,  then  explained: 
"  It  is  a  matter  of  business.     One  of  my  farm-hands  is 
in  prison." 

"Indeed!     What  for?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing.     He  killed  a  fellow  last  week." 
"Jove!    What   a  peaceful,   pastoral   place   you  have 
here!    I  arrive  to  be  met  by  an  armed  guard,  I  hear  talk 

30 


A    CONFESSION    AND    A    PROMISE 

of  Mafiosi,  men  ride  out  at  night  with  rifles,  and  old 
women  predict  unspeakable  evil.  What  is  all  the  mys 
tery?" 

"Nonsense!  There  is  no  mystery.  Do  you  think  I 
would  drag  you,  my  best  friend,  into  danger?"  Savigno's 
lips  were  smiling,  but  he  awaited  an  answer  with  some 
restraint.  "That  would  not  be  quite  the — quite  a  nice 
thing  to  do,  would  it?" 

"So,  that's  it!  Now  I  know  you  have  something  on 
your  mind.  And  it  must  be  of  considerable  importance 
or  you  would  have  told  me  before  this." 

"You  are  right,"  the  Count  suddenly  declared,  "al 
though  I  hoped  you  would  not  discover  it.  I  might  have 
known.  But  I  suppose  it  is  better  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it  now.  I  have  enemies,  my  friend,  and  I  assure 
you  I  do  not  cherish  them." 

"The  Countess  Margherita  is  a  famous  beauty,  eh? 
Well!  It  is  not  remarkable  that  you  should  have  rivals." 

"No,  no.  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  her,  unless  our 
approaching  marriage  has  roused  them  to  make  a  demon 
stration.  Have  you  ever  heard  of — Belisario  Cardi?" 

" Not  until  this  morning.     Who  is  he?" 

"  I  would  give  much  to  know.  If  you  had  asked  me  a 
month  ago,  I  would  have  said  he  is  an  imaginary  character, 
used  to  frighten  people — a  modern  Fra  Diavolo,  a  mere 
name  with  which  to  inspire  terror — for  nobody  has  ever 
seen  him.  Now,  however,  he  seems  real  enough,  and 
I  learn  that  the  carabinieri  believe  in  his  existence." 
Martel  pushed  back  the  breakfast  dishes  and,  leaning  his 
elbows  upon  the  table,  continued,  after  a  pause:  "To 
you  Sicily  is  all  beauty  and  peace  and  fragrance;  she  is 
old  and  therefore  civilized,  so  you  think.  Everything  you 
have  seen  so  far  is  reasonably  modern,  eh?"  He  showed 
his  white  teeth  as  Blake  assured  him: 

"It's  the  most  peaceful,  restful  spot  I  ever  saw." 

"You  see  nothing  but  the  surface.  Sicily  is  much 

21 


THE    NET 

what  she  was  in  my  grandfather's  time.  You  have  in 
quired  about  La  Mafia.  Well,  there  is  such  a  thing.  It 
killed  my  father.  It  forced  me  to  give  up  my  home 
and  be  an  exile."  At  Norvin's  exclamation  of  astonish 
ment,  he  nodded.  "There's  a  long  story  behind  it  which 
you  could  not  appreciate  without  knowing  my  father  and 
the  character  of  our  Sicilian  people,  for,  after  all,  Sicilian 
character  constitutes  La  Mafia.  It  is  no  sect,  no  cult,  no 
secret  body  of  assassins,  highwaymen,  and  robbers,  as 
you  foreigners  imagine ;  it  is  a  national  hatred  of  authority, 
an  individual  expression  of  superiority  to  the  law." 

"In  our  own  New  Orleans  we  are  beginning  to  talk  of 
the  Mafia,  but  with  us  it  is  a  mysterious  organization  of 
Italian  criminals.  We  treat  it  as  somewhat  of  a  joke." 

"Be  not  so  sure.  Some  day  it  may  dominate  your 
American  cities  as  it  does  all  Sicily." 

"Still  I  don't  understand.  You  say  it  is  an  organiza 
tion  and  yet  it  is  not;  it  terrorizes  a  whole  island  and  yet 
you  say  it  is  no  more  than  your  national  character.  It 
must  have  a  head,  it  must  have  arms." 

"It  has  no  head,  or,  rather,  it  has  many  heads.  It  is 
not  a  band.  It  is  the  Sicilian  intolerance  of  restraint,  the 
individual's  sense  of  superiority  to  moral,  social,  and 
political  law.  It  is  the  freemasonry  that  results  from  this 
common  resistance  to  authority.  It  is  an  idea,  not  an 
institution;  it  is  Sicily's  curse  and  that  which  makes  her 
impossible  of  government.  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that 
we  have  outlawry  and  brigandage;  they  are  merely  the 
most  violent  demonstrations  of  La  Mafia.  It  afflicts  the 
cities;  it  is  a  tyranny  in  the  country  districts.  La  Mafia 
taxes  us  with  blackmail,  it  saddles  us  with  a  great  force  of 
carabinieri,  it  gives  food  and  drink  and  life  to  men  like 
Belisario  Cardi.  Every  landholder,  every  man  of  prop 
erty,  contributes  to  its  support.  You  still  do  not  under 
stand,  but  you  will  as  I  go  along.  As  an  instance  of  its 
workings,  all  fruit-growers  hereabouts  are  obliged  to 

22 


A    CONFESSION    AND    A    PROMISE 

maintain  watchmen,  in  addition  to  their  regular  employees. 
Otherwise  their  groves  will  be  robbed.  These  guards 
are  Mafiosi.  Let  us  say  that  one  of  us  opposes  this 
monopoly.  What  happens?  He  loses  his  crop  in  a 
night;  his  trees  are  cut  down.  Should  he  appeal  to  the 
law  for  protection,  he  is  regarded  as  a  weakling,  a  man  of 
no  spirit.  This  is  but  one  small  example  of  the  workings 
of  La  Mafia;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  permeates  the  political, 
the  business,  and  the  social  life  of  the  whole  island. 
Knowing  the  impotence  of  the  law  to  protect  any  one, 
peaceable  citizens  shield  the  criminals.  They  perjure 
themselves  to  acquit  a  Mafioso  rather  than  testify  against 
him  and  thus  incur  the  certainty  of  some  fearful  ven 
geance.  Should  the  farmer  persist  in  his  independence, 
something  ends  his  life,  as  in  my  father's  case.  The 
whole  country  is  terrorized  by  a  conspiracy  of  a  few  bold 
and  masterful  men.  It  is  unbearable.  There  are,  of 
course,  Capi-Mafia — leaders — whose  commands  are  en 
forced,  but  there  is  no  single  well-organized  society.  It 
is  a  great  interlocking  system  built  upon  patronage, 
friendship,  and  the  peculiar  Sicilian  character." 

"Now  I  think  I  begin  to  understand." 

"My  father  was  not  strong  enough  to  throw  off  the 
yoke  and  it  meant  his  death.  I  was  too  young  to  take 
his  place,  but  now  that  I  am  a  man  I  intend  to  play  a  man's 
part,  and  I  have  served  notice.  It  means  a  battle,  but  I 
shall  win." 

To  Martel's  hasty  and  very  incomplete  sketch  of  the 
hidden  influences  of  Sicilian  life  Blake  listened  with  the 
greatest  interest,  noting  the  grave  determination  that  had 
settled  upon  his  friend;  yet  he  could  scarcely  bring  himself 
to  accept  an  explanation  that  seemed  so  far-fetched. 
The  whole  theory  of  the  Mafia  struck  him  as  grotesque 
and  theatrical. 

"And  one  man  has  already  been  killed,  you  say?"  he 
asked. 

23 


THE    NET 

"Yes,  I  discharged  all  the  watchmen  whom  I  knew  to  be 
Mafiosi.  It  caused  a  commotion,  I  can  tell  you,  and  no 
little  uneasiness  among  the  country  people,  who  love  me 
even  if,  to  them,  I  have  been  a  more  or  less  imaginary 
person  since  my  father's  death.  Naturally  they  warned 
me  to  desist  in  this  mad  policy  of  independence.  A  week 
ago  one  of  my  campieri,  Paolo — he  who  is  now  in  prison — 
surprised  a  fellow  hacking  down  my  orange-trees  and 
shot  him.  The  miscreant  proved  to  be  a  certain  Galli, 
whom  I  had  discharged.  He  left  a  family,  I  regret  to  say, 
but  his  reputation  was  bad.  Notwithstanding  all  this, 
Paolo  is  still  in  prison  despite  my  utmost  efforts.  The 
machinery  of  the  Mafia  is  in  motion,  they  will  perjure 
witnesses,  they  will  spend  money  in  any  quantity  to  con 
vict  my  poor  Paolo.  Heaven  knows  what  the  result 
will  be." 

"And  where  does  this  bogey-man  enter — this  Belisario 
Cardi?" 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  him." 

"Really?" 

"It  is  in  the  hands  of  the  carabinieri,  hence  this  journey 
of  my  friend,  Colonel  Neri,  from  Messina." 

"What  did  the  letter  say?" 

"It  demanded  a  great  sum  of  money,  with  my  life  as 
the  penalty  for  refusal.  It  was  signed  by  Cardi;  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  name.  If  it  had  been  from  Narcone, 
for  instance,  I  would  have  paid  no  attention  to  it,  for  he  is 
no  more  than  a  cattle-thief.  But  Belisario  Cardi!  My 
boy,  you  don't  appreciate  the  significance  of  that  name.  I 
should  not  care  to  fall-  into  his  hands,  I  assure  you,  and 
have  my  feet  roasted  over  a  slow  fire — 

"Good  heavens!"  Norvin  cried,  rising  abruptly  from 
his  chair.  "You  don't  really  mean  he's  that  sort?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  the  Count  reassured  his  guest, 
"I  don't  believe  in  his  existence  at  all.  It  is  merely  a 
name  to  be  used  upon  occasion.  But  as  for  the  punish- 

24 


A    CONFESSION    AND    A    PROMISE 

ment,  that  is  perhaps  the  least  I  might  expect  if  I  were 
so  unfortunate  as  to  be  captured." 

"Why,  this  can't  be!  Do  you  realize  that  this  is  the 
year  1886?  Such  things  are  not  possible  any  longer.  In 
your  father's  time — yes." 

"All  things  are  possible  in  Sicily,"  smiled  Savigno. 
"We  are  a  century  behind  the  times.  But,  caro  mio,  I 
did  wrong  to  tell  you — 

"No,  no." 

"  I  shall  come  to  no  harm,  believe  me.  I  am  known  to 
be  young,  rich,  and  my  marriage  is  but  a  few  days  off. 
What  more  natural,  therefore,  than  for  some  Mafioso  to 
try  to  frighten  me  and  profit  by  the  dreaded  name  of 
Cardi?  I  am  a  stranger  here  in  my  own  birthplace. 
When  I  become  better  known,  there  will  be  no  more  feeble 
attempts  at  blackmail.  Other  landholders  have  main 
tained  their  independence,  and  I  shall  do  the  same,  for 
an  enemy  who  fears  to  fight  openly  is  a  coward,  and  I  am 
in  the  right." 

"  I  am  glad  I  came.  I  shall  be  glad,  too,  when  you  are 
married  and  safely  off  on  your  wedding  journey." 

"  I  feared  to  tell  you  all  this  lest  you  should  think  I  had 
no  right  to  bring  you  here  at  such  a  time — 

"Don't  be  an  utter  idiot,  Martel." 

"You  are  an  American;  you  have  your  own  way  of 
looking  at  things.  Of  course,  if  anything  should  happen — 
if  ill-fortune  should  overtake  me  before  the  marriage — 

"See  here!  If  there  is  the  slightest  danger,  the  faintest 
possibility,  you  ought  to  go  away,  as  you  did  before," 
Norvin  declared,  positively. 

"I  am  no  longer  a  child.  I  am  to  be  married  a  week 
hence.  Wild  horses  could  not  drag  me  away." 

"You  could  postpone  it — explain  it  to  the  Countess — 

"There  is  no  necessity;  there  is  no  cause  for  alarm,  even. 
All  the  same,  I  feel  much  easier  with  your  here.  Margherita 
has  relatives,  to  be  sure,  but  they  are — well,  I  have  no 

25 


THE    NET 

confidence  in  them.  In  the  remote  possibility  that  the 
worst  should  come,  you  could  look  out  for  her,  and  I  am 
sure  you  would.  Am  I  right?" 

"Of  course  you  are." 

"And  now  let  us  think  of  something  pleasanter.  We 
won't  talk  of  it  any  more,  eh?" 

"I'm  perfectly  willing  to  let  it  drop.  You  know  I 
would  do  anything  for  you  or  yours,  so  we  needn't  discuss 
that  point  any  further." 

"Good!"  Martel  rose  and  with  his  customary  display 
of  affection  flung  an  arm  about  his  friend's  shoulders. 
"And  now  Ricardo  is  waiting  to  go  to  San  Sebastiano,  so 
you  must  amuse  yourself  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  have  had 
the  billiard-table  recovered,  and  the  cushions  are  fairly 
good.  You  will  find  books  in  the  library,  perhaps  a  port 
folio  of  my  earlier  drawings — 

"Billiards!"  exclaimed  the  American,  fervently,  where 
upon  the  Count  laughed. 

"Till  I  return,  then,  a  riverderci!"  He  seized  his  hat 
and  strode  out  of  the  room. 


Ill 

THE    GOLDEN    GIRL 

SHORTLY  after  the  heat  of  the  day  had  begun  to  subside 
the  two  friends  set  out  for  Terranova.  Ricardo  accom 
panied  them — it  seemed  he  went  everywhere  with  Martel 
— following  at  a  distance  which  allowed  the  young  men 
freedom  to  talk,  his  watchful  eyes  scanning  the  roadside 
as  if  even  in  the  light  of  day  he  feared  some  lurking  danger. 

The  prospect  of  seeing  his  fiancee  acted  like  wine  upon 
Savigno,  and  from  his  exuberant  spirits  it  was  evident  that 
he  had  completely  forgotten  his  serious  talk  at  the  break 
fast  table.  His  disposition  was  mercurial,  and  if  he  had 
ever  known  real  forebodings  they  were  forgotten  now. 

It  was  a  splendid  ride  along  a  road  which  wound  in 
serpentine  twinings  high  above  the  sea,  now  breasting 
ridges  bare  of  all  save  rock  and  spurge,  and  now  dipping 
into  valleys  shaded  by  flowering  trees  and  cloyed  with 
the  scent  of  blooms.  It  meandered  past  farms,  in  hap 
hazard  fashion,  past  vineyards  and  gardens  and  groves 
of  mandarin,  lime,  and  lemon,  finally  toiling  up  over  a 
bold  chestnut-studded  shoulder  of  the  range,  where  Blake 
drew  in  to  enjoy  the  scene.  A  faint  haze,  impalpable  as 
the  memory  of  dreams,  lay  over  the  land,  the  sea  was 
azure,  the  mountains  faintly  purple.  A  gleam  of  white 
far  below  showed  Terranova,  and  when  the  American  had 
voiced  his  appreciation  the  three  horsemen  plunged  down 
ward,  leaving  a  rolling  cloud  of  yellow  dust  behind  them. 

The  road  from  here  on  led  through  a  wild  and  somewhat 
forbidding  country,  broken  by  ravines  and  watercourses 

27 


THE    NET 

and  quite  densely  wooded  with  thickets  which  swept 
upward  into  the  interior  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach ;  but 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Terranova  the  land  blossomed  and 
flowered  again  as  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains. 

Leaving  the  main  road  by  a  driveway,  the  three  horse 
men  swung  through  spacious  grounds  and  into  a  court 
yard  behind  the  house,  where  an  old  man  came  shuffling 
slowly  forward,  his  wrinkled  face  puckered  into  a  smile  of 
welcome. 

"Ha!  Aliandro!"  cried  the  Count.  "What  do  I  see? 
The  rheumatism  is  gone  at  last,  grazie  Dio!" 

Aliandro's  loose  lips  parted  over  his  toothless  gums  and 
he  mumbled: 

" Illustrissimo,  the  accursed  affliction  is  worse." 

"Impossible!  Then  why  these  capers?  My  dear 
Aliandro,  you  are  shamming.  Why,  you  came  leaping 
like  a  goat." 

"As  God  is  my  judge,  carino,  I  can  sleep  only  in  the 
sun.  It  is  like  the  tortures  of  the  devil,  and  my  bones 
creak  like  a  gate." 

"And  yet  each  day  I  declare  to  myself:  'Aliandro,  that 
rascal,  is  growing  younger  as  the  hours  go  by.  It  is  well 
we  are  not  rivals  in  love  or  I  should  be  forced  to  hate 
him!'  "  The  old  man  chuckled  and  beamed  upon  Savigno, 
who  proceeded  to  make  Norvin  known. 

Aliandro's  face  had  once  been  long  and  pointed,  but 
with  the  loss  of  teeth  and  the  other  mysterious  shrinkages 
of  time  it  had  shortened  until  in  repose  the  chin  and  the 
nose  seemed  to  meet  like  the  points  of  calipers.  When  he 
moved  his  jaws  his  whole  countenance  lengthened  magi 
cally,  as  if  made  of  some  substance  more  elastic  than  flesh. 
It  stretched  and  shortened  rapidly  now,  in  the  most  ex 
traordinary  fashion,  for  the  Count  had  a  knack  of  pleas 
ing  people. 

"And  where  are  the  ladies?"  Savigno  inquired. 

Aliandro  cocked  a  watery  eye  at  the  heavens  and  replied : 

28 


THE    GOLDEN   GIRL 

"They  will  be  upon  the  loggiato  at  this  hour,  Illus- 
trissimo.  The  Donna  Teresa  will  have  a  book."  He 
squinted  respectfully  at  a  small  note  which  Martel 
handed  him,  then  inquired,  "Do  you  wish  change?" 

"Not  at  all.     It  is  yours  for  your  courtesy." 

"Grazie!  Grazie!  A  million  thanks."  The  old  fellow 
made  off  with  surprising  agility. 

"What  a  sham  he  is!"  the  Count  laughed,  as  he  and 
Norvin  walked  on  around  the  house.  "He  will  do  no 
labor,  and  yet  the  Contessa  supports  him  in  idleness. 
There  is  a  Mafioso  for  you!  He  has  been  a  brigand,  a 
robber.  He  is,  to  this  day,  as  you  see.  Margherita  has 
an  army  of  such  people  who  impose  upon  her.  Every 
time  I  am  here  I  tip  him.  Every  time  he  receives  it 
with  the  same  words." 

Although  the  country-seat  of  the  Ginini  was  known 
as  a  castello,  it  was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  comfortable 
and  pretentious  villa.  It  had  dignity,  however,  and 
drowsed  upon  a  commanding  eminence  fronted  by  a 
splendid  terraced  lawn  which  one  beheld  through  clumps 
of  flowering  shrubs  and  well -tended  trees.  Here  and 
there  among  the  foliage  gleamed  statuary,  and  the  musical 
purl  of  a  fountain  fell  upon  the  ear. 

As  the  young  men  mounted  to  the  loggiato,  or  covered 
gallery,  a  delicate,  white-haired  Italian  lady  arose  and 
came  to  meet  them. 

"Ah,  Martel,  my  dear  boy!  We  have  been  expecting 
you,"  she  cried.  • 

It  was  the  Donna  Teresa  Fazello,  and  she  turned  a 
sweet  face  upon  Mattel's  friend,  bidding  him  welcome  to 
Terranova  with  charming  courtesy.  She  was  still  ex 
changing  with  him  the  pleasantries  customary  upon 
first  meetings  when  he  heard  the  Count  exclaim  softly, 
and,  looking  up,  saw  him  bowing  low  over  a  girl's  hands. 
Her  back  was  half  turned  toward  Norvin,  but  although 
he  had  not  seen  her  features  clearly,  he  felt  a  great  surprise. 

29 


THE    NET 

His  preconceived  notion  of  her  had  been  all  wrong,  it 
seemed,  for  she  was  not  dark — on  the  contrary,  she  was  as 
tawny  as  a  lioness.  Her  hair,  of  which  there  was  an 
abundance,  was  not  the  ordinary  Saxon  yellow,  but  irides 
cent,  as  if  burned  by  the  fierce  heat  of  a  tropical  sun. 
The  neck  and  cheeks  were  likewise  golden,  or  was  it  the 
light  from  her  splendid  crown? 

He  was  still  staring  at  her  when  she  turned  and  came 
forward  to  give  him  her  hand,  thus  allowing  her  full  glory 
to  flash  upon  him. 

"Welcome!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  as  low-pitched  as  a 
cello  string,  and  her  lover,  watching  eagerly  for  some  sign 
from  his  friend,  smiled  delightedly  at  the  emotion  he  saw 
leap  up  in  Norvin's  face.  That  young  man  was  quite 
unconscious  of  Martel's  espionage — unconscious  of  every 
thing,  in  fact,  save  the  splendid  creature  who  stood  smiling 
at  him  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  her  days.  His  first 
impression,  that  she  was  all  golden,  all  gleaming,  like  a 
flame,  did  not  leave  him;  for  the  same  warm  tints  that 
were  in  her  hair  were  likewise  present  in  her  cheeks,  her 
neck,  her  hands.  It  was  like  the  hue  which  underlies  old 
ivory.  Her  skin  was  clear  and  of  unusual  pallor,  yet  it 
seemed  to  radiate  warmth.  Something  rich  and  vivid 
in  her  voice  also  lent  strength  to  the  odd  impression  she 
had  given  him,  as  if  her  very  speech  were  gold  made  liquid. 
Except  for  the  faintest  tinge  of  olive,  her  cheeks  were 
colorless,  yet  they  spoke  of  perfect  health,  and  shone 
with  that  same  pale,  effulgent  glow,  like  the  reflection  of  a 
late  sun.  Her  lips  were  richly  red  and  as  fresh  as  a  half- 
opened  flower,  affording  the  only  contrast  to  that  puzzling 
radiance.  Her  unusual  effect  was  due  as  much  perhaps 
to  the  color  of  her  eyes  as  to  her  hair  and  skin,  for  while 
they  were  really  of  a  greenish  hazel  they  held  the  fires  of 
an  opal  in  their  depths.  They  were  Oriental,  slumbrous, 
meditative,  and  the  black  pupils  were  of  an  exaggerated  size. 
Her  brows  were  dark  and  met  above  a  finely  chiseled  nose. 

30 


THE    GOLDEN    GIRL 

All  in  all,  Blake  was  quite  taken  aback,  for  he  had  not 
been  prepared  for  such  a  vision,  and  a  sort  of  panic  robbed 
him  of  speech.  But  when  his  halting  tongue  had  done  its 
duty  and  his  eyes  had  turned  once  more  to  the  aunt,  some 
irresistible  power  swept  them  back  to  the  young  woman's 
face.  The  more  he  observed  her  the  more  he  was  puzzled 
by  that  peculiar  effect,  that  glow  which  seemed  to  en 
velop  her.  Even  her  gown,  of  some  shimmering  material, 
lent  its  part  to  the  illusion.  Yellow  was  undeniably  her 
color;  she  seemed  steeped  in  it. 

He  had  to  make  a  determined  effort  to  recover  his 
composure. 

Savigno  fell  quickly  into  a  lover's  rhapsody,  devouring 
the  girl  with  ardent  glances  under  which  she  thrilled,  and 
soon  they  began  to  chatter  of  the  wedding  prepara 
tions. 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come  so  long  a  way," 
said  the  Countess  at  last,  turning  to  the  American  for  a 
second  time.  "Martel  has  told  us  all  about  you  and 
about  your  adventures  together." 

"Not  all!"  cried  Savigno,  lightly.  "We  have  pasts, 
I  assure  you." 

"Martel  tries  so  hard  to  impress  us  with  his  wicked 
ness,"  the  aunt  explained.  "But  we  know  him  to  be 
jesting.  Perhaps  you  will  confound  him  here  before  us." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Blake  laughed.  "Who 
am  I  to  rob  him  of  a  delightfully  wicked  past  upon  which 
he  can  pretend  to  look  back  in  horror?  It  is  the  only 
past  he  will  ever  have,  so  why  spoil  it  for  him?  On  the 
contrary,  I  am  prepared  to  lend  a  hand  and  to  start  him 
off  with  a  list  of  damning  disclosures  which  it  will  re 
quire  years  to  live  down." 

"Pray  begin,"  urged  the  Count  with  an  air  of  intense 
satisfaction.  "Eh?  He  hesitates.  Then  I  shall  begin 
for  him.  In  the  first  place,  Margherita,  he  openly  de 
clares  that  I  covet  your  riches." 

31 


THE    NET 

The  Countess  joined  in  the  laughter  at  this,  and  Norvin 
could  only  say: 

"I  had  not  met  you  then,  Signorina." 

"He  was  quite  serious,  nevertheless,  and  predicted  that 
marriage  would  end  our  friendship,  arguing  that  supreme 
happiness  is  but  another  term  for  supreme  selfishness." 

"At  least  I  did  not  question  the  certainty  of  your 
happiness." 

The  girl  spoke  up  gravely: 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  Signor  Blake.  I  should  hate 
to  think  it  will  make  us  selfish.  It  seems  to  me  that  such 
— love  as  we  share  will  make  us  very  good  and  sweet 
and  generous." 

When  she  spoke  of  love  she  hesitated  and  lowered  her 
eyes  until  the  quivering  lashes  swept  her  cheeks,  but  no 
flush  of  embarrassment  followed.  Norvin  realized  that 
with  all  her  reserve  she  could  not  blush,  had  probably 
never  blushed. 

"You  shouldn't  place  the  least  dependence  on  the  words 
of  a  man's  best  friend  under  such  conditions,"  he  told  her, 
' '  for  he  covers  his  chagrin  at  losing  a  comrade  by  a  display 
of  pessimism  which  he  doesn't  really  feel." 

Norvin  suddenly  wished  the  Countess  would  not  allow 
her  glance  to  linger  upon  him  so  long  and  searchingly.  It 
filled  him  with  a  most  disturbing  self-consciousness.  He 
was  relieved  when  the  Donna  Teresa  engaged  him  in 
conversation  and  the  lovers  were  occupied  with  each  other. 
It  was  some  time  later  that  the  Countess  addressed  her 
aunt  excitedly: 

"Listen!  What  do  you  think  of  this,  zia  mia?  The 
authorities  will  not  admit  poor  Paolo  to  bail,  and  he  is  still 
in  prison." 

"Poor  fellow!"  cried  the  Donna  Teresa.  "It  is  La 
Mafia." 

"Perhaps  it  is  better  for  him  to  remain  where  he  is," 
Martel  said.  "He  is  at  least  safe,  for  the  time  being. 

32 


THE    GOLDEN   GIRL 

Here  is  something  you  may  not  know:  Galli's  wife  is  sister 
to  Gian  Narcone." 

"The  outlaw?" 

"Then  she  will  probably  kill  Paolo,"  said  the  Countess 
Margherita,  calmly. 

Blake  exclaimed  wonderingly:  "I  say — this  is  worse 
than  Breathitt  County,  Kentucky.  You  talk  of  murders 
and  outlaws  as  we  discuss  the  cotton  crop  or  the  boll- 
weevil.  This  is  the  most  fatal  country  I  ever  saw." 

"It  is  a  great  pity  that  such  things  exist,"  the  Donna 
Teresa  agreed,  "but  one  grows  accustomed  to  them  in 
time.  It  has  been  so  ever  since  I  was  a  child — we  do  not 
seem  to  progress,  here  in  Sicily.  Now  in  Italy  it  is  much 
more  civilized,  much  more  restful." 

"How  hard  it  must  be  to  do  right,"  said  the  Countess, 
musingly.  "Look  at  Paolo,  for  instance;  he  kills  a 
wretched  thief  quite  innocently,  and  yet  the  law  holds 
him  in  prison.  It  is  necessary,  of  course,  to  be  severe 
with  robbers  like  this  Galli  and  his  brother-in-law,  who  is 
an  open  outlaw,  and  yet,  I  suppose  if  I  were  that  Galli's 
wife  I  should  demand  blood  to  wash  my  blood.  She  is 
only  a  wife." 

"You  sympathize  with  her?"  exclaimed  Martel  in 
astonishment. 

"Deeply!  I  am  not  so  sorry  the  man  was  killed,  but 
a  wife  has  rights.  She  will  doubtless  follow  him." 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  vendetta?"  Norvin  asked, 
curiously.. 

"Who  does  not?  The  law  is  full  of  tricks.  There  is  a 
saying  which  runs,  'The  gallows  for  the  poor,  justice  for 
the  fool!'  " 

"You  are  a  Mafiosa,"  cried  the  scandalized  aunt. 

"It  is  one  of  Aliandro's  sayings.  He  has  lived  a  life! 
He  often  tells  me  stories." 

"Aliandro  is  a  terrible  liar,"  Martel  declared.  "I 
fear  his  adventures  are  much  like  his  rheumatism." 

3  33 


THE    NET 

"You  do  not  exact  a  reckoning  from  your  enemies  in 
America?"  queried  Margherita. 

"Oh,  we  do,  but  not  with  quite  so  much  enthusiasm  as 
you  do,"  Blake  answered  her.  "We  aren't  ordinarily 
obliged  to  kill  people  in  order  to  protect  our  property, 
and  wives  don't  go  about  threatening  vengeance  when 
their  husbands  meet  with  accidents.  The  police  take  care 
of  such  things." 

"A  fine  country!  It  must  be  so  peaceful  for  old 
people,"  ejaculated  the  aunt. 

"We  have  some  outlaws,  to  be  sure,  like  your  notorious 
Belisario  Cardi — 

"Cardi  is  but  a  name,"  said  the  girl.  "He  does  not 
exist." 

Intercepting  a  warning  glance  from  Martel,  Blake  said 
no  more,  and  the  talk  drifted  to  more  agreeable  subjects. 

But  the  Count,  being  possessed  of  a  nervous  tempera 
ment  which  called  for  constant  motion,  could  not  long  re 
main  inactive,  and  now,  having  poured  his  extravagant 
devotion  into  his  sweetheart's  ears,  he  rose,  saying: 

"I  must  go  to  the  village.  The  baker,  the  confectioner, 
the  butcher,  all  have  many  things  to  prepare  for  the  festa, 
and  I  must  order  the  fireworks  from  Messina.  Norvin 
will  remain  here  while  Ricardo  and  I  complete  the  ar 
rangements.  I  tell  you  it  will  be  a  celebration  to  awaken 
the  countryside.  For  an  hour  then,  addio!"  He  touched 
his  lips  to  Marghcrita's  fingers  and,  bowing  to  her  aunt, 
ran  down  the  steps. 

"Some  gadfly  stings  him,"  said  the  Donna  Teresa, 
fondly.  "He  is  like  a  child;  he  cannot  remain  seated. 
He  comes,  he  goes,  like  the  wind.  There  is  no  holding 
him." 

"So  there's  to  be  a  festa?"  Blake  observed  with  interest. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  It  will  be  a  great  event.  It  was  Martel's 
idea."  Margherita  arose  and  the  young  man  followed. 
"See,  out  there  upon  the  terrace  there  will  be  dancing. 

34 


THE    GOLDEN    GIRL 

You  have  never  seen  a  Sicilian  merrymaking?  You  have 
never  seen  the  tarantella!  Then  you  will  be  interested. 
On  the  night  before  the  ceremony  the  people  will  come 
from  the  whole  countryside.  There  will  be  music,  games, 
fireworks.  Oh,  it  will  be  a  celebrazione.  My  cousins 
from  Messina  will  be  here,  the  bishop,  many  fine  people. 
I — I  am  more  excited  than  Martel.  I  can  scarcely  wait." 
The  girl's  face  mirrored  her  emotion  and  her  eyes  were  as 
deep  as  the  sea.  She  seemed  for  the  moment  very  far 
away,  uplifted  in  contemplation  of  the  great  change 
so  soon  to  occur  in  her  life,  and  Norvin  began  to  suspect 
her  of  a  tremendous  depth  of  feeling.  Unknown  even  to 
herself  she  was  smouldering ;  una wakened  fires  were  stirred 
by  the  consciousness  of  coming  wifehood.  Out  here  in  the 
sun  she  was  more  tawny  than  ever,  and,  recalling  the 
threat  against  her  lover,  the  young  man  fell  to  wondering 
how  she  would  take  misfortune  if  it  ever  came.  Feeling 
his  eyes  upon  her,  she  met  his  gaze  frankly  with  a  smile. 

"What  is  it?     You  have  something  to  say." 

He  recovered  himself  with  an  effort. 

"No!  Only — you  are  so  different  from  what  I  ex 
pected." 

"And  you  also,"  she  laughed.  "You  are  much  more 
agreeable;  I  like  you  immensely,  and  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  all  about  yourself." 

That  was  a  wonderful  afternoon  for  Blake.  The 
Sicilian  girl  took  him  into  her  confidence  without  the 
slightest  restraint.  There  was  no  period  of  getting 
acquainted;  it  was  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  a 
lifetime.  He  never  ceased  marveling  at  her  beauty  and 
his  ears  grew  ever  more  eager  for  her  voice.  Martel  made 
no  secret  of  his  delight  at  their  instantaneous  liking  for 
each  other,  and  the  dinner  that  evening  was  the  gayest 
that  had  brightened  Terranova  for  years. 

Inasmuch  as  the  ride  to  San  Sebastiano  was  long,  the 
young  men  were  forced  to  leave  early,  b.ut  they  were 


THE    NET 

scarcely  out  of  hearing  before  Martel  drew  his  horse  in 
beside  Norvin  and,  laying  a  hand  upon  his  friend's  arm, 
inquired,  breathlessly: 

"Well?  Come,  come,  brother  of  mine!  You  know  I 
perish  of  eagerness.  What  have  you  to  say?  The  truth, 
between  man  and  man." 

Blake  answered  him  with  an  odd  hesitation: 

"You  must  know  without  asking.  There's  nothing  to 
say — except  that  she — she  is  like  a  golden  flame.  She 
sets  one  afire.  She  is  different — wonderful.  I — I— 

"Exactly!"  Savigno  laughed  with  keenest  content 
ment.  "There  is  no  other." 

When  Blake  retired  that  night  it  was  not  to  sleep  at 
once,  for  he  was  troubled  by  a  growing  fear  of  himself  that 
would  not  be  lightly  put  aside. 


IV 

THE    FEAST   AT   TERRANOVA 

DURING  the  next  few  days  Norvin  Blake  saw  much  of 
the  Countess  Margherita,  for  every  afternoon  he  and 
M  artel  rode  to  Terranova.  The  preparations  for  the 
wedding  neared  completion  and  the  consciousness  of  a 
coming  celebration  had  penetrated  the  countryside. 
Among  all  who  looked  forward  to  the  big  event,  perhaps 
the  one  who  watched  the  hours  fly  with  the  greatest  de 
gree  of  suspense  was  the  American.  He  had  half  faced 
the  truth  on  that  night  after  his  first  meeting  with  the 
girl,  and  the  succeeding  days  enforced  the  conviction  he 
would  have  been  glad  to  escape.  He  could  no  longer  doubt 
that  he  was  in  love,  madly  infatuated  with  his  best 
friend's  fiancee,  and  the  knowledge  came  like  some  crushing 
misfortune.  It  could  scarcely  be  .called  a  love  at  first 
sight,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  always  known  and  always 
loved  this  girl.  He  had  never  believed  in  these  sudden 
obsessions,  and  more  than  once  had  been  amused  at 
Martel's  ability  to  fall  violently  in  love  at  a  moment's 
notice,  and  to  fall  as  quickly  out  again,  but  in  spite  of  his 
coolest  reasoning  and  sternest  self-reproach  he  found 
the  spell  too  strong  for  him.  Every  decent  instinct  com 
manded  him  to  uproot  this  passion;  every  impetuous 
impulse  burst  into  sudden  flame  and  consumed  his  better 
sense,  his  judgment,  and  his  loyalty,  leaving  him  shaken 
and  doubtful.  Although  this  was  his  first  serious  soul 
conflict,  he  possessed  more  than  average  self-control,  and 
he  managed  to  conceal  his  feelings  so  well  that  Martel, 

37 


THE    NET 

who  was  the  embodiment  of  loyalty  and  generosity,  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  the  truth.  As  for  the  girl,  she 
was  too  full  of  her  own  happiness  to  see  anything  amiss. 
She  took  her  lover's  comrade  into  her  heart  with  that  odd 
unrestraint  which  characterized  her,  and,  recognizing  the 
bond  which  united  the  two  young  men,  she  strove  to  widen 
it  sufficiently  to  include  herself.  It  spoke  well  for  her 
that  she  felt  no  jealousy  of  that  love  which  a  man  bears 
for  his  life's  best  friend,  but  rather  strove  to  encourage  it. 
Her  intense  desire  to  be  a  part  of  her  lover  and  share 
all  his  affections  led  her  to  strive  earnestly  for  a  third 
place  in  the  union,  with  the  result  that  Blake  saw  even 
more  of  her  than  did  Savigno.  She  deliberately  set  herself 
the  task  of  winning  the  American,  a  task  already  more 
than  accomplished,  had  she  but  known  it,  and,  although 
for  some  women  such  a  course  would  have  been  neither 
easy  nor  safe,  with  her  a  misconception  of  motive  was 
impossible. 

She  had  an  ardent,  almost  reckless  manner  of  attacking 
problems;  she  was  as  intense  and  yet  as  changeful  as  a 
flame.  Blake  watched  her  varying  moods  with  the  same 
fascination  with  which  one  regards  a  wind-blown  blaze, 
recognizing,  even  in  her  moments  of  repression,  that  she 
was  ready  to  burst  forth  anew  at  the  slightest  breath. 
She  was  the  sort  of  woman  to  dominate  men,  to  inspire 
them  with  tremendous  enthusiasm  for  good  or  for  evil  as 
they  chanced  to  lean  toward  the  one  or  the  other.  While 
she  seemed  wholly  admirable,  she  exercised  a  damnable 
effect  upon  Norvin.  He  was  tortured  by  a  thousand 
devils,  he  was  possessed  by  dreams  and  fancies  hitherto 
strange  and  unrecognized.  The  nervous  strain  began  to 
tell  in  time;  he  slept  little,  he  grew  weary  of  the  struggle, 
things  became  unreal  and  distorted.  He  longed  to  end  it 
all  by  fleeing  from  Sicily,  and  had  there  been  more  time  he 
would  have  arranged  for  a  summons  to  America.  His 
mother  had  not  been  well  for  a  long  time,  and  he  was 

38 


THE    FEAST    AT    TERRANOVA 

tempted  to  use  this  fact  as  an  excuse  for  immediate  de 
parture,  but  the  thought  that  Martel  needed  him  acted 
as  an  effective  restraint.  The  vague  menace  of  La  Mafia 
still  hung  over  the  Count  and  was  not  lessened  by  the 
receipt  of  a  second  threatening  letter  a  few  days  after 
Blake's  arrival. 

Cardi  wrote  again,  demanding  instant  compliance  with 
the  terms  contained  in  his  first  communication.  Savigno 
was  directed  to  send  Ricardo  Ferara  at  a  given  hour  to  a 
certain  crossroads  above  San  Sebastiano  with  ten  thousand 
lire.  In  that  case  candles  would  be  burned  and  masses 
said  for  the  soul  of  the  murdered  Galli,  so  the  writer 
promised.  The  letter  put  no  penalty  upon  a  failure  to 
comply  with  these  demands,  beyond  a  vague  prediction  of 
evil.  It  was  short  and  business-like  and  very  much  to  the 
point. 

As  this  was  the  first  document  of  the  kind  Norvin  had 
ever  seen,  he  was  greatly  interested  in  it. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  may  be  the  work  of  this  fellow  Nar- 
cone?"  he  inquired.  "I  understand  he  is  the  brother-in- 
law  of  Galli." 

"Narcone  would  scarcely  undertake  so  bold  a  piece  of 
blackmail,"  the  Count  declared.  "I  knew  him  slightly 
before  he  gave  himself  to  the  campagna.  He  was  a 
butcher;  he  was  brutal  and  domineering,  but  he  was  a 
coward." 

"  It  is  not  from  Narcone,"  Ricardo  pronounced,  positively 
— they  had  called  in  the  overseer  for  the  discussion — "he 
is  grossolano.  He  can  neither  read  nor  write.  This 
letter  is  well  spelled  and  well  written." 

"Then  you  think  it  is  really  from  Cardi?" 

Ricardo  shrugged  his  square  shoulders.  "Who  knows? 
Some  say  there  is  no  such  person,  others  declare  he  went 
to  America  years  ago." 

"What  is  your  belief?" 

"I  know  a  man  who  has  seen  him." 

39 


THE    NET 

"Who?" 

"Aliandro." 

"Bah!     Aliandro  is  such  a  liar!"  exclaimed  Savigno. 

"However  that  may  be,  he  has  seen  things  in  his  time. 
He  says  that  Cardi  is  not  what  people  suppose  him  to  be — 
a  brigand — except  when  it  suits  his  desires.  That  is  why 
he  comes  and  goes  and  the  carabinieri  can  never  trace 
him.  That  is  why  he  is  at  home  in  all  parts  of  Sicily; 
that  is  why  he  uses  men  like  Narcone  when  he  chooses." 

"It  would  please  me  to  capture  the  wretch,"  said  Martel. 

"Let's  try  it,"  Norvin  suggested,  and  accordingly  a 
trap  was  laid. 

Four  carabinieri  were  sent  to  the  appointed  place,  ahead 
of  time,  with  directions  to  conceal  themselves,  and 
Ferara  carried  out  his  part  of  the  programme.  But  no  one 
came  to  meet  him,  he  encountered  no  one  coming  or 
going  to  the  crossroads,  and  returned  greatly  disgusted. 
However,  at  his  suggestion  Colonel  Neri  stationed  the 
four  soldier  policemen  at  the  castello  to  prevent  any 
demonstration  and  to  profit  by  any  development  which 
might  occur. 

The  young  men  did  not  permit  this  diversion  to  inter 
rupt  their  daily  trips  to  Terranova,  although  as  a  matter  of 
precaution  they  added  Ippolito  to  their  party.  He  was 
delighted  at  the  change  of  duty,  because,  as  Norvin  dis 
covered,  it  brought  him  to  the  side  of  Lucrezia  Ferara. 
Thus  it  happened  that  Martel  had  reason  to  regret  the 
choice  of  his  bodyguard,  for  on  the  very  first  visit  Ippolito 
began  to  strut  and  swagger  before  the  girl  and  allowed  the 
secret  to  escape  him,  whereupon  it  was  carried  to  the 
Countess. 

She  appealed  to  Martel  to  leave  San  Sebastiano  for  the 
time  being,  to  postpone  the  wedding,  or  at  least  to  go  to 
Messina  for  it ;  but  of  course  he  refused  and  tried  to  laugh 
down  her  misgivings,  and  of  course  she  appealed  privately 
to  Blake  for  assistance. 

40 


THE    FEAST    AT   TERRANOVA 

"You  must  use  your  influence  to  change  his  mind," 
she  said,  earnestly.  "He  declares  he  will  not  be  overawed 
by  these  ruffians.  He  says  that  to  pay  them  the  least 
attention  would  be  to  encourage  them  to  another  attempt 
when  we  return,  but — he  does  not  know  the  Mafia  as  I 
know  it.  You  will  do  this  for  me?" 

"Of  course,  if  you  wish  it,  although  I  agree  with  Martel, 
and  I'm  sure  he  won't  listen  to  me.  He  can't  play  the 
coward.  The  wedding  is  only  two  days  off  now.  Why, 
to-morrow  is  the  gala-day !  How  could  he  notify  the  whole 
district,  when  all  his  preparations  have  been  completed? 
What  excuse  could  he  give  without  confessing  his  fear 
and  making  himself  liable  to  a  later  and  stronger  at 
tack?" 

"The  country  people  need  not  know  anything  about  it. 
Let  them  come  and  make  merry.  He  can  leave  now,  to 
night.  We  will  join  him  at  Messina." 

Norvin  shook  his  head.  "I'll  do  what  I  can,  since  you 
wish  it,  but  I'm  sure  he  won't  consent  to  any  change  of 
plan.  I'm  sure,  also,  that  you  are  needlessly  troubled." 

"Perhaps,"  she  acknowledged,  doubtfully.  "And  yet 
Martel's  father — " 

"Yes,  yes.  But  conditions  are  not  what  they  were 
fifteen  years  ago.  This  is  merely  a  blackmailing  scheme, 
and  if  he  ignores  it  he'll  probably  never  hear  of  it  again. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  he  allows  it  to  drive  him  away  it 
will  be  repeated  upon  his  return." 

She  searched  his  face  with  her  eyes,  and  his  wits  reeled 
at  her  earnest  gaze.  He  was  conscious  of  a  single  wild 
desire  that  such  anxiety  might  be  for  him.  How  gladly 
he  would  yield  to  her  wishes — how  gladly  he  would  yield 
to  any  wish  of  hers!  He  was  a  foreigner;  he  hated  this 
island  and  its  people,  for  the  most  part,  and  yet  if  he 
stood  in  Martel's  place  he  would  willingly  change  his  life 
to  correspond  with  hers.  He  would  become  Sicilian  in 
body  and  soul.  She  had  the  power  to  dissolve  his  habits, 


THE    NET 

his  likes  and  dislikes,  and  reconstruct  him  through  and 
through. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,"  she  said  at  last.  "And  yet — 
it  is  said  that  no  one  escapes  the  Mafia." 

"This  isn't  the  Mafia.     It  is  the  work  of  some  brigand — ' 

"What  is  the  difference?  The  one  merges  into  the 
other.  Blood  has  been  spilled;  the  forces  are  at  work." 

Suddenly  she  seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  her  eyes 
blazed.  "Look  you,"  she  cried,  "if  Martel  should  be  in 
jured,  if  these  men  should  dare — all  Sicily  would  not  hold 
them.  No  power  could  save  them,  no  hiding-place 
could  be  so  secret,  no  lies  so  cunning,  that  I  would  not 
know.  You  understand?" 

Blake  saw  that  the  girl  was  at  last  aroused  to  that 
intensity  of  feeling  which  he  had  recognized  as  latent 
in  her.  Love  had  caused  her  to  glow,  but  it  had  required 
this  breath  of  fear  to  fan  the  fire  into  full  strength.  He 
was  deeply  moved  and  answered  simply:  "I  understand. 
I — never  knew  how  much  you  loved  him." 

Her  humor  changed,  and  she  smiled. 

"One  is  foolish,  perhaps,  to  be  so  frank,  but  that  is  my 
nature.  You  would  not  have  me  change  it?" 

"You  couldn't  if  you  tried." 

"Martel  has  always  known  I  loved  him.  I  could  never 
conceal  it.  I  never  wished  to.  If  he  had  not  seen  it  I 
would  have  told  him.  Just  now,  when  I  heard  he  was 
threatened — well,  you  see." 

"Ippolito  had  no  business  to  mention  the  matter.  I 
suppose  his  tongue  ran  away  with  him.  Tongues  have  a 
way  of  doing  such  things  when  their  owners  are  in  love." 

"He  is  not  for  Lucrezia." 

"Why?    He's  a  fine  fellow." 

"Oh,  but  Lucrezia  is  superior.  I  have  taught  her  a 
great  many  things.  She  is  more  like  a  sister  to  me  than 
a  servant,  and  I  could  not  see  her  married  to  a  farm-hand. 
She  can  do  much  better  than  to  marry  Ippolito." 

42 


THE    FEAST    AT    TERRANOVA 

"Love  goes  where  it  pleases,"  said  the  American  with 
so  much  feeling  that  Margherita's  eyes  leaped  to  his. 

"You  know?  Ah,  my  good  friend,  then  you  have 
loved?" 

He  nodded.     "I  have.     I  do." 

She  was  instantly  all  eagerness,  and  beamed  upon  him 
with  a  frank  delight  that  stabbed  him. 

"Martel?     Does  he  know?" 

"No.     You  see,  there's  no  use — no  possibility." 

"I'm  sorry.  There  must  be  some  great  mistake.  I 
cannot  conceive  of  so  sad  a  thing." 

"Please  don't  try,"  he  exclaimed,  panic-stricken  at 
thought  of  the  dangerous  ground  he  was  treading  and 
miserably  afraid  she  would  guess  the  truth  in  spite  of  him. 

"I  should  think  any  woman  might  love  you,"  she  said, 
critically,  after  a  moment's  meditation.  "You  are  good 
and  brave  and  true." 

"  Most  discerning  of  women !"  he  cried,  with  an  elaborate 
bow.  "Those  are  but  a  few  of  my  admirable  traits." 
He  was  relieved  to  see  that  she  had  no  suspicion  of  his 
feelings,  for  she  was  extremely  quick  of  wit  and  her 
intuition  was  keen.  No  doubt,  her  failure  to  read  him 
was  due  to  her  absorption  in  her  own  affairs.  He  had 
arrived  at  a  better  knowledge  of  her  capabilities  to-day  and 
began  to  realize  that  she  was  as  changeable  as  a  chameleon. 
One  moment  she  could  be  like  the  sirocco  in  warmth  and 
languor,  the  next  as  sparkling  as  the  sunlit  ocean.  Again 
she  could  be  steeped  in  a  dreamy  abstraction  or  alive  with 
a  pagan  joy  of  life.  She  might  have  been  sixteen  or 
thirty,  as  her  mood  chanced  to  affect  her.  Of  all  the 
crossed  strains  that  go  to  make  up  the  Sicilian  race  she 
had  inherited  more  of  the  Oriental  than  the  Greek  or 
Roman.  Somewhere  back  in  the  Ginini  family  there  was 
Saracen  blood,  he  felt  sure. 

Blake  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  made  her  wishes 
known  to  Martel,  who  laughingly  accused  him  of  a  lack  of 

43 


THE   NET 

faith  in  his  own  arguments.  The  Count  was  bubbling 
with  spirits  at  the  immediate  nearness  of  his  nuptials,  and 
declined  to  consider  anything  which  might  interfere  with 
them.  He  joyfully  told  Blake  that  the  tickets  were  al 
ready  bought  and  all  arrangements  made  to  leave  for 
Messina  immediately  after  the  ceremony,  which  would 
take  place  in  the  church  at  Terranova.  They  would  catch 
the  boat  for  Naples  on  the  evening  after  the  wedding,  he 
explained,  and  Blake  was  to  accompany  them  at  least 
that  far  on  his  way  to  America.  Meanwhile,  he  had  no 
intention  of  foregoing  the  pleasure  of  to-morrow's  celebra 
tion,  even  if  Belisario  Cardi  himself  should  appear,  to 
dispute  his  coming.  It  was  the  first,  the  last,  and  the 
only  time  he  intended  marrying,  and  he  had  promised  him 
self  to  enjoy  the  occasion  to  the  utmost,  despite  those 
letters,  which,  after  all,  were  not  to  be  taken  seriously. 
So  the  matter  was  allowed  to  stand. 

The  country  people  had  begun  to  assemble  when 
Martel  and  his  friend  arrived  at  the  Ginini  manor  on  the 
following  afternoon,  and  the  grounds  were  filling  with 
gaily  dressed  peasants.  The  train  from  Messina  had 
brought  Margherita's  relatives,  and  the  bishop  had  sent 
word  that  he  would  arrive  in  ample  time  for  the  ceremony 
on  the  next  morning.  The  contadini  were  coming  in 
afoot,  astride  of  donkeys  and  mules,  or  in  gaily  painted 
carts  pictured  with  the  miracles  of  the  saints  and  the 
conquests  of  the  Moors.  There  were  dark-haired  men 
and  women,  wild-haired  boys  with  roses  above  their  ears, 
girls  with  huge  ear-rings  and  fringed  shawls  which  swept 
the  ground  as  they  walked.  As  yet  they  had  not  en 
tirely  lost  their  restraint,  but  Martel  went  among  them 
with  friendly  hand-clasps  and  exuberant  greetings,  re 
newing  old  acquaintances  and  welcoming  new  until  at 
last  their  shyness  disappeared  and  they  began  to  laugh 
and  chatter  unaffectedly. 

Savigno  had  traveled,  he  told  them.  He  had  arranged 

44 


THE   FEAST   AT   TERRANOVA 

many  surprises  for  his  friends.  There  would  be  games, 
dances,  music,  and  a  wonderful  entertainment  in  the  big 
striped  tent  yonder,  supplied  by  a  troupe  of  players  which 
he  had  brought  all  the  way  from  Palermo.  As  for  the  feast, 
well,  the  tables  were  already  stretched  under  the  trees, 
as  they  could  see,  and  if  any  one  wished  to  tantalize  his 
nostrils  just  let  him  wander  past  the  kitchen  in  the  rear, 
where  a  dozen  women  had  been  at  work  since  dawn.  But 
that  was  not  all ;  there  would  be  gifts  for  the  children  and 
prizes  for  the  best  dancers.  The  handsomest  woman 
would  receive  a  magnificent  shawl  the  like  of  which  had 
never  been  dreamed  of  in  Terranova,  and  then  to  prevent 
jealousy  the  others  would  receive  presents  also.  But  he 
would  not  say  too  much.  Let  them  wait  and  see.  Finally 
there  would  be  fireworks,  enough  to  satisfy  every  one; 
and  all  he  asked  of  them  was  that  they  drink  the  health  of 
the  Countess  Margherita  and  wish  her  lifelong  happiness. 
It  was  to  be  a  memorable  occasion,  he  hoped,  and  if  they 
did  not  enjoy  themselves  as  never  before,  then  he  and  his 
bride  would  feel  that  their  wedding  had  been  a  great,  a 
colossal  failure. 

But  it  seemed,  as  night  approached,  that  Martel  had 
no  reason  to  doubt  the  quality  of  his  entertainment,  for 
the  guests  gave  themselves  up  to  joy  as  only  southerners 
can,  forgetting  poverty,  hardship,  and  all  the  grinding 
cares  of  their  barren  lives.  They  yielded  quickly  to  the 
passion  of  the  festa,  and  Blake  began  to  see  Sicily  for  the 
first  time.  He  would  have  liked  to  enter  into  their 
merrymaking,  but  felt  himself  too  much  a  stranger. 

The  feast  was  elaborate;  no  ristorante  could  have 
equaled  it,  no  one  but  a  spendthrift  lover  like  Martel 
would  have  furnished  it.  But  it  was  not  until  darkness 
came  and  the  trees  began  to  twinkle  and  glow  with  their 
myriad  lights  that  the  fun  reached  its  highest  pitch. 
Then  there  was  true  Sicilian  dancing,  true  Sicilian  joking, 
love-making.  Eyes  were  bright,  cheeks  were  flushed,  lips 

45 


THE    NET 

were  parted,  and  the  halls  of  Terranova  echoed  to  a 
bacchanalian  tumult. 

There  had  been  an  elaborate  supper  inside  also,  to  which 
the  more  prominent  townspeople  had  been  invited  and 
from  which  Norvin  Blake  was  only  too  eager  to  escape 
as  it  drew  to  an  end.  The  strain  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected  for  the  past  week  was  growing  unbearable,  and 
the  sight  of  Margherita  Ginini  clad  like  a  vision  in  some 
elaborate  Parisian  gown  so  intensified  his  distress  that  he 
was  glad  to  slip  away  into  the  open  air  at  the  first  op 
portunity.  He  found  Ricardo  leaning  against  the  bole 
of  a  eucalyptus-tree,  observing  the  throng  with  watchful 
eyes. 

"Why  aren't  you  making  merry?"  Blake  inquired. 

The  overseer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  replying,  somberly, 
"I  am  waiting." 

"For  what?" 

"Who  knows?     There  are  strangers  here." 

"You  mean,"  •-  Blake's  manner  changed  quickly — 
"there  may  be  enemies?" 

"If  Cardi  is  in  the  mountains  behind  Martinello, 
may  he  not  be  here  at  Terranova?  I  am  looking  for  a 
thick,  black  man.  Aliandro  has  described  him." 

"Cardi  would  scarcely  come  to  a  wedding  feast,"  said 
Blake,  with  a  certain  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

"Scarcely,"  the  overseer  agreed. 

"Have  you  seen  anything?" 

"Nothing." 

"Where  is  Ippolito?" 

Ricardo  grunted.  "Asleep  in  the  stable.  The  im 
becile  is  drunk." 

To  the  American  these  Sicilian  people  looked  very 
much  alike.  They  were  all  a  bit  fantastic,  and  the  scene 
reminded  him  of  a  fancy-dress  ball  where  all  the  men 
represented  brigands.  Many  of  them  were,  or  seemed 
f,o  be,  of  truculent  countenance;  some. wore  piratical 

46 


THE    FEAST    AT    TERRANOVA 

ear-rings,  others  had  shawls  wrapped  about  their  heads  as 
if  for  concealment.  Any  one  of  them  might  have  been  a 
brigand,  for  all  he  knew,  and  he  saw  how  easy  it  would 
be  for  a  handful  of  evil-intentioned  persons  to  mingle 
unobserved  with  such  a  throng.  Yet  his  better  sense 
told  him  that  he  was  silly  to  imagine  such  things.  He  had 
allowed  old  women's  tales  to  upset  his  nerves. 

A  half-hour  later,  as  he  was  watching  the  crowd  from 
the  loggiato,  Margherita  appeared,  and  he  thought  for  a 
moment  that  she  too  might  feel  some  vague  foreboding, 
but  her  first  words  reassured  him. 

"My  good  friend,  I  missed  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  had 
no  chance  of  leaving  until  this  moment."  Coming  close 
to  him,  she  inquired:  "Has  something  gone  amiss?  You 
have  seemed  sad  all  this  evening.  I  do  not  know,  but  I 
fear  your  heart  is — heavy." 

He  answered,  unsteadily:  "Perhaps  it  is.  I — don't 
know." 

"It  is  that  certain  woman." 

"  I  dare  say.     I'm  a  great  fool,  you  know." 

"Don't  say  that.  This  is  perhaps  the  only  chance  I 
shall  have  of  seeing  you  alone." 

"I'm  glad,"  he  broke  out  in  a  tone  that  startled  her. 
"Glad  for  you.  I  have  tried  not  to  be  a  death's-head  at 
your  feast,  but  it  has  been  a  struggle." 

"We  women  see  things.  Martel,  boy  that  he  is,  docs 
not  suspect,  and  yet  I,  who  have  known  you  so  short  a 
time,  have  read  your  secret.  It  is  our  happiness  which 
makes  you  sad." 

"No,  no.  I'm  not  that  sort.  I  share  your  happiness. 
I  want  it  to  continue." 

"If  I  had  one  wish  it  would  be  that  she  might  care 
for  you  as  I  care  for  Martel.  And  who  knows?  Perhaps 
she  may.  You  say  it  is  impossible,  yet  life  is  full  of 
blind  ways  and  unseen  turnings.  Somehow  I  feel  that 
she  will." 

47 


THE    NET 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  managed  to  say.  Then  yield 
ing  to  a  sudden  impulse,  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
it.  A  moment  later  she  left  him,  but  the  touch  of  her 
cool  flesh  against  his  lips  remained  an  unforgetable  im 
pression. 

Savigno  appeared,  yawning  prodigiously. 

"Dio!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  grimace.  "Those  cousins 
of  hers  are  deadly  dull;  I  do  not  blame  you  for  escaping. 
And  the  judge,  and  the  notary's  wife,  and  that  village 
doctor!  Colonel  Neri  is  a  good  chap,  notwithstanding 
his  mustache  in  which  he  takes  so  much  pride.  He  nurses 
it  like  a  child,  and  yet  it  is  older  than  I.  Poor  friend  of 
mine,  you  are  a  martyr,  thus  to  endure  for  me." 

"It's  tremendously  interesting,  particularly  this  part 
out  here,"  Norvin  asserted.  "I  saw  them  dancing  what 
I  took  to  be  the  tarantella  a  moment  ago.  Those  peasant 
boys  are  like  leaping  fauns." 

"Yes,  and  they  will  continue  to  dance  for  hours  yet.  I 
fear  the  Donna  Teresa  will  not  retire  at  her  usual  hour. 
What  a  day  it  has  been !  It  is  fine  to  give  people  happi 
ness.  That  is  one  of  my  new  discoveries." 

' '  Remember  to-morrow. ' ' 

"Believe  me,  I  think  of  nothing  else.  That  is  why  we 
must  be  going  soon.  We  cannot  wait  even  for  the  fire 
works,  as  much  as  I  would  like  to.  It  is  a  long  road  to 
Martinello  and  we  must  be  up  early  in  the  morning.  You 
do  not  object?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  was  about  to  bear  you  off  in  spite 
of  yourself." 

"Then  I  will  have  Ippolito  fetch  the  horses." 

"Ippolito  has  been  demonstrating  the  mastery  of  wine 
over  matter.  He  is  asleep  in  the  manger." 

"Drunk?  Oh,  the  idiot!  He  has  the  appetite  of  a 
shark,  but  the  belly  of  a  herring.  I  ought  to  warm  his 
soles  with  a  cane,"  declared  Savigno,  angrily. 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  him.  I  suspect  Lucrezia  would 

48 


THE    FEAST    AT    TERRANOVA 

not  listen  to  his  suit,  poor  chap.     He's  sick  from  un 
requited  passion." 

"Very  well,  we  will  leave  him  to  sleep  it  off.     I  couldn't 
be  harsh  with  him  at  this  time.     And  now  we  had  best 
begin  presenting  our  good-nights,  although  I  hate  to  go." 
4 


V 

WHAT   WAITED   AT   THE    ROADSIDE 

To  avoid  the  dampening  effect  of  an  early  departure 
the  three  men  rode  out  quietly  from  the  courtyard  at  the 
rear  of  the  house,  leaving  the  merrymakers  to  their  fun. 

"So,  this  is  our  last  ride  together,"  Norvin  said,  as 
they  left  the  valley  and  began  the  long  ascent  of  the 
mountain  that  lay  between  them  and  Martinello. 

"Yes.  Henceforth  we  spare  our  horses.  You  see  to 
morrow  we  will  take  the  morning  train.  Half  of  San 
Sebastiano  will  accompany  us,  too,  and  everybody  will  be 
dressed  in  his  finest.  Ricardo  here,  for  instance,  will 
wear  his  new  brown  suit — a  glorious  affair.  Eh ,  Ricardo  ? ' ' 

"It  would  be  as  well  to  refrain  from  speaking,"  said  the 
overseer,  gruffly.  "The  road  is  dark.  Who  knows  what 
may  be  waiting?" 

"Nonsense!  Be  not  always  a  bear.  We  are  three 
armed  men.  I  fancy  Narcone,  nay,  even  our  dreadful 
Cardi  himself,  would  scarcely  dare  molest  us." 

Ferara  merely  grunted  and  continued  to  hold  his  place 
abreast  of  his  employer.  Norvin  observed  that  he  carried 
his  rifle  across  his  saddle-bow,  and  involuntarily  shifted 
the  strap  of  his  own  weapon  so  that  it  might  be  ready  in 
case  of  an  emergency.  He  had  rebelled,  somewhat,  at 
carrying  a  firearm,  but  Martel,  after  making  a  clean 
breast  of  his  troubles  that  first  morning,  had  insisted,  and 
the  American  had  yielded  even  though  he  felt  ridiculous. 

The  sky  was  moonless  to-night  but  crowded  with 
stars  which  gave  light  enough  so  that  the  riders  were  able 


WHAT    WAITED    AT   THE    ROADSIDE 

to  follow  the  road  without  difficulty,  although  the  shadows 
on  either  side  were  dense.  The  air  was  sweet,  and  so 
still  that  the  sounds  of  revelry  from  Terranova  were 
plainly  audible.  Strains  of  music  floated  up  the  hillside, 
the  shouts  of  the  master  of  ceremonies  came  distinctly 
as  he  issued  his  commands  for  a  country  dance.  The  many 
lights  within  the  grounds  shone  cloudily  among  the 
tree-tops  far  below,  like  the  effulgence  from  some  well-lit 
city  hidden  behind  a  hill,  now  disappearing  for  a  time,  now 
shining  out  again  as  the  road  pursued  its  meanderings. 
The  hurried  footfalls  of  the  horses  thudded  steadily  in  the 
soft  dust ;  the  saddles  creaked  with  that  music  which  lulls 
a  horseman  like  a  song. 

"Youth!  Youth!  What  a  glorious  thing  it  is!"  ex 
claimed  Martel  after  a  fruitless  attempt  to  hold  his 
tongue.  "  Ricardo  would  have  us  go  prowling  like  robbers 
when  our  hearts  are  singing  loud  enough  for  all  the 
mountainside  to  hear.  There  is  no  evil  in  the  world 
to-night,  for  the  world  is  in  love ;  to-morrow  it  bursts  into 
happiness!  And  I  am  king  over  it  all!" 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  you,  just  the  same," 
grumbled  the  old  man. 

"Ricardo  alone  has  fears,  but  he  was  never  young. 
Think  you  that  the  gods  would  permit  my  wedding-day 
to  be  marred?  Bah!  One  can  see  evil  before  it  comes; 
it  casts  a  shadow;  it  has  a  chilling  breath  which  any  one 
with  sensibilities  can  feel.  As  for  me,  I  see  the  future  as 
clearly  as  if  it  were  spread  out  before  me  in  the  sunshine, 
and  there  is  no  misfortune  in  it  anywhere.  I  cannot  con 
ceive  of  misfortune,  with  all  this  gladness  and  expectancy 
inside  me." 

"They  have  begun  the  fireworks,"  said  Blake.  "It's 
too  bad  you  couldn't  stay  to  see  them,  Martel."  He 
turned  in  his  saddle,  and  the  others  reined  in  as  a  rocket 
soared  into  the  night  sky  and  burst  with  a  shower  of 
sparks.  Others  followed  and  a  detonation  sounded  faintly. 


THE   NET 

"Poor  people!"  said  the  Count,  gently.  "I  can  hear 
them  crying,  'Oh!'  'Ah!'  'Beautiful!'  'It  is  an  angel  from 
heaven!'  ' 

"On  the  contrary,  I'll  warrant  they're  exclaiming,  'It 
is  that  angel  from  San  Scbastiano.'  You  have  given 
them  a  great  night." 

The  Count  laughed.  "Yes.  They  will  have  much  to 
talk  and  dream  about.  Their  lives  arc  very  barren,  you 
know,  and  I  hope  the  Countess  and  I  will  be  able  to  make 
them  brighter  as  the  years  go  by.  Oh,  I  have  plans, 
caro  mio,  so  many  plans  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin 
or  how  to  talk  about  them.  I  could  never  be  an  artist, 
no  matter  how  furiously  I  painted,  no  matter  how  many 
beautiful  women  I  drew;  but  I  can  paint  smiles  upon  the 
faces  of  those  sad  women  down  yonder.  I  can  bring  happi 
ness  into  their  lives.  And  that  will  be  a  picture  to  look 
back  upon,  eh?  Don't  you  think  so?  When  they  learn 
to  know  me,  when  they  learn  to  love  and  trust  me,  there 
will  be  brighter  days  at  Terranova  and  at  San  Sebastiano." 

"They  love  you  now,  I  am  sure." 

"I  am  too  much  a  stranger  yet.  I  have  neglected  my 
duties,  but — well,  in  my  travels  I  have  learned  some 
things  that  will  be  of  benefit  to  us  all.  I  see  so  much  to  do. 
It  is  delightful  to  be  young  and  full  of  hopes,  and  to  have 
the  means  of  realizing  them.  Above  all,  it  is  delicious 
to  know  that  there  is  one  who  will  share  those  ambitions 
and  efforts  with  you.  I  see  Ricardo  is  disgusted  with  me, 
but  he  is  a  pessimist.  He  does  not  believe  in  charity  and 
love." 

"What  foolish  talk!"  protested  the  old  man  with  heat. 
"Do  I  not  love  my  girl  Lucrezia?  Do  I  not  love  you, 
the  Countess,  and — and — perhaps  a  few  others?" 

Martel  laughed.     "I  was  merely  teasing  you." 

They  resumed  their  journey,  leaving  the  showering 
meteors  behind  them,  and  the  Count,  in  the  lightness  of 
his  heart,  began  humming  a  tune. 

52 


WHAT   WAITED   AT   THE    ROADSIDE 

As  for  Blake,  he  rode  as  silently  as  Ferara,  being  lost  in 
contemplation  of  a  happiness  in  which  he  had  no  part. 
Not  until  this  moment  had  he  realized  how  entirely  un 
necessary  he  was  to  the  existence  of  Martel  and  Marghe- 
rita.  He  longed  to  remain  a  part  of  them,  but  saw  that  his 
desire  was  vain.  They  were  complete  without  him,  their 
lives  would  be  full.  He  began  to  feel  like  a  stranger  al 
ready.  It  was  a  new  sensation,  for  he  had  always  seemed 
to  be  a  factor  in  the  lives  of  those  about  him ;  but  Martel 
had  changed  with  the  advent  of  new  interests  and  ambi 
tions.  Sicily,  too,  was  different  from  any  land  he  knew, 
and  even  Margherita  Ginini  was  hard  to  understand.  She 
seemed  to  be  the  spirit  of  Sicily  made  flesh  and  blood. 
He  wondered  if  the  very  fact  that  she  was  so  unusual 
might  not  help  him  to  forget  her  once  he  was  away  from 
her  influence.  He  hoped  so,  for  this  last  week  had  been 
the  most  painful  period  of  his  life.  He  had  come  south, 
somewhat  against  his  will,  for  a  kaleidoscopic  glimpse  of 
Europe,  never  dreaming  that  he  would  carry  back  to 
America  anything  more  than  the  usual  flitting  memories 
of  a  pleasant  trip;  but  instead  he  was  destined  to  take 
with  him  a  single  vivid  picture.  He  argued  that  he  was 
merely  infatuated  with  the  girl,  carried  away  by  the 
allurement  of  a  new  and  remarkable  type  of  woman,  and 
that  these  headlong  passions  were  neither  healthy  nor 
lasting;  but  his  reasoning  brought  him  no  real  sense  of 
conviction,  and  his  life,  as  he  looked  forward  to  it,  ap 
peared  singularly  flat  and  stale.  His  one  consolation, 
poor  as  it  seemed,  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  played  the 
man  to  the  best  of  his  ability  and  was  really  glad,  even  if 
a  bit  envious,  of  Martel's  good-fortune. 

He  let  his  thoughts  run  free  in  this  manner,  sitting  his 
horse  listlessly,  for  he  was  tired  mentally  and  physically, 
watching  the  gray  road  idly  as  it  slipped  past  beneath 
the  muffled  hoofs,  and  lulled  by  Savigno's  musical  hum 
ming. 

53 


THE    NET 

It  was  while  he  was  still  in  this  half -somnolent,  semi 
detached  frame  of  mind  that  he  rode  into  a  sudden  white- 
hot  whirl  of  events. 

Norvin  Blake  was  never  clear  in  his  mind  regarding 
the  precise  sequence  of  the  action  that  followed,  for  he  was 
snatched  too  quickly  from  his  mental  relaxation  to  retain 
any  well-defined  impressions.  He  recalled  vaguely  that 
the  road  lay  like  a  mysterious  canon  walled  in  with  dark 
ness,  and  that  his  thoughts  were  miles  away  when  his 
horse  shied  without  warning,  nearly  unseating  him  and 
bringing  him  back  to  a  sense  of  his  surroundings  with  a 
shock.  Simultaneously  he  heard  a  cry  from  Ricardo; 
it  was  a  scream  of  agony,  cutting  through  Savigno's 
song  like  a  saber  stroke.  For  a  moment  Blake's  heart 
seemed  to  stop,  then  began  pounding  crazily.  A  stream 
of  fire  leaped  out  at  his  left  side,  splitting  the  quiet  night 
with  a  detonation.  The  wood  which  had  lain  so  silent 
and  deserted  an  instant  before  was  lit  by  answering 
flashes,  the  blackness  at  an  arm's-length  on  every  side 
was  stabbed  by  wicked  tongues  of  flame,  and  the  road 
swarmed  with  grotesque  bodies  leaping  and  tumbling 
and  fighting.  Blake's  horse  reared  as  something  black 
rose  up  beneath  its  forefeet  and  snatched  at  its  bridle; 
Martel's  steed  lurched  into  it,  then  fell  kicking  and 
screaming,  sending  its  mate  careening  to  the  roadside. 
The  unexpected  movement  wrenched  Norvin's  feet  from 
the  stirrups  and  left  him  clinging  desperately  to  mane 
and  cantle. 

It  all  came  with  a  terrifying  swiftness — quite  as  if  the 
three  riders  had  crossed  over  a  powder-train  at  the  instant 
of  its  eruption,  to  find  themselves,  in  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  involved  in  chaos. 

Ricardo's  horse  thundered  away,  riderless,  leaving  a 
squirming,  wriggling  confusion  of  forms  in  the  road  where 
the  overseer  was  battling  for  his  life.  Martel's  voice 
rose  shrilly  in  a  curse,  and  then  Norvin  felt  himself 

54 


WHAT    WAITED    AT   THE    ROADSIDE 

dragged  roughly  from  his  saddle,  whether  by  human  hands 
or  by  some  overhanging  tree-branch  he  never  knew.  The 
force  of  his  fall  bruised  and  stunned  him,  but  he  struggled 
weakly  to  his  feet  only  to  find  himself  in  the  grasp  of 
a  man  whose  black  visage  fronted  his  own.  He  tried  to 
break  away,  but  his  bones  were  like  rope,  his  muscles  were 
flabby  and  shaking.  He  exerted  no  more  force  than  a 
child.  In  front  of  him  something  sickening,  something 
unspeakably  foul  and  horrible,  was  going  on,  and  in  its 
presence  he  was  wholly  unmanned.  More  hands  seized 
him  quickly,  but  he  lacked  the  vigor  to  attempt  an  escape. 
On  the  contrary,  he  hung  limp  and  paralyzed  with  terror. 
The  mystery,  the  uncertainty,  the  hideous  significance  of 
that  wordless  scuffle  in  the  dusty  road  rendered  him 
nerveless,  and  he  cried  out  shakingly,  like  a  man  in  a 
nightmare. 

A  voice  commanded  him  to  be  silent,  a  hot  breath  beat 
against  his  cheek;  but  he  could  not  restrain  his  hysteria, 
and  one  of  his  captors  began  to  throttle  him.  He  heard 
his  name  called  and  saw  Savigno's  figure  outlined  briefly 
against  the  gray  background,  saw  another  figure  blend 
with  it,  then  heard  Martel's  voice  end  in  a  rising  cry  which 
lived  to  haunt  his  memory.  It  rose  in  protest,  in  sur 
prise,  as  if  the  Count  doubted  even  at  the  last  that  death 
could  really  claim  him.  Then  it  broke  in  a  thin,  wavering 
shriek. 

Blake  may  have  fainted ;  at  any  rate,  his  body  was  be 
yond  his  control,  and  his  next  remembrance  was  of  being 
half  dragged,  half  thrust  forward  out  into  the  lesser 
shadows.  There  was  no  longer  any  struggling,  although 
men  were  speaking  excitedly  and  he  could  hear  them 
panting;  some  one  was  working  the  ejector  of  a  rifle  as 
if  it  had  stuck.  A  tall  man  was  wiping  his  hands  upon 
some  dried  grass  plucked  from  the  roadside,  and  he  was 
cursing. 

"Who  is  this?"  he  cried,  thrusting  his  face  into  the 

55 


THE    NET 

American's  and  showing  a  brutal  countenance  bristly  with 
a  week's  growth  of  beard. 

"The  stranger,"  one  of  Blake's  captors  answered,  where 
upon  the  tall  man  uttered  a  violent  exclamation. 

"Wait!"  cried  the  other.  "He  is  already  dying.  He 
cannot  stand." 

Some  one  else  explained,  "It  is  indeed  the  American, 
but  he  is  wounded." 

"Let  me  finish  the  work;  he  has  seen  too  much,"  said 
the  first  speaker,  roughly. 

"No,  no!  He  is  the  American.  Do  you  not  under 
stand?" 

"Remember  the  order,  Narcone,"  cautioned  another. 

But  Narcone  continued  to  curse  as  if  mastered  by  the 
craving  to  kill,  and  if  the  others  had  not  laid  hands  upon 
him  he  might  have  made  good  his  intention.  They 
argued  with  him,  all  at  once,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  confu 
sion  which  ensued  a  new  voice  called  from  the  darkness: 

"What  have  you  there?" 

"The  American!     He  cannot  stand." 

A  square  figure  came  swiftly  through  the  group,  mut 
tering  angrily,  and  the  others  fell  back  to  give  him  room, 
all  but  Narcone,  who  repeated,  doggedly: 

"Let  me  finish  the  work  if  you  fear  to  do  so." 

His  companions  broke  out  at  him  again  in  a  babble  of 
argument,  whereupon  the  new-comer  shouted  at  them  in 
a  furious  voice: 

"Silenzio!    Who  did  this?" 

No  one  answered  for  a  moment,  but  at  length  the 
brigand  who  held  Blake's  hands  pinioned  at  his  back  with 
a  sash  or  scarf  ventured  to  suggest: 

"I  am  not  so  sure  he  is  injured.  We  pulled  him  down 
first;  he  may  only  be  frightened." 

"There  was  to  be  no  shooting,"  growled  the  leader  of 
the  band. 

"Eh?  But  you  saw  for  yourself.  There  was  nothing 

56 


WHAT   WAITED    AT    THE    ROADSIDE 

else  to  do,"  said  Narcone.  "That  Ricardo  was  an  old 
wolf." 

The  thick-set  man,  whom  Norvin  took  to  be  the  in 
famous  Cardi  himself,  cried  sharply: 

"Come,  come,  Signore,  speak!     Are  you  hurt?" 

The  prisoner  shook  his  head  mechanically,  although  he 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  injured  or  not.  His  denial 
seemed  to  satisfy  the  chief,  who  said  with  relief: 

"It  is  well.  We  did  not  wish  to  harm  you.  There 
would  be  consequences,  you  understand?  And  now  a 
match,  somebody." 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  Narcone  assured  him  with  a 
laugh.  "Of  what  use  to  learn  a  trade  like  mine  if  one 
cannot  strike  true?  The  knife  went  home,  twice — once 
for  us,  once  for  poor  Galli,  who  was  murdered.  It  was 
like  killing  sheep."  Picking  up  the  wisp  of  grass  which 
he  had  dropped,  he  began  to  dry  his  hands  once  more. 

A  tiny  flame  flickered  in  the  darkness.  It  was  lowered 
until  it  shone  upon  the  upturned  face  of  Ricardo  Ferara 
where  he  lay  sprawled  in  the  dust,  his  teeth  showing  be 
neath  his  gray  mustache,  then  died  away,  and  the  black 
outlines  of  the  bull-necked  man  leaped  into  relief  again 
as  he  stooped  to  examine  Martel. 

Not  until  that  instant  did  the  full,  crushing  horror  of 
the  affair  come  home  to  the  American,  for  events  had 
crowded  one  another  so  closely  that  his  mind  was  con 
fused;  but  when,  in  the  halting  yellow  glare,  he  saw  those 
two  slack  forms  and  the  crooked,  unnatural  postures  in 
which  death  had  left  them,  his  consciousness  cleared  and 
he  strained  at  his  bonds  like  a  fear-maddened  horse. 

His  actual  danger,  however,  was  at  an  end.  One  of 
the  band  removed  the  rifle  which  still  hung  from  his 
shoulders  and  which  he  had  forgotten ;  another  slipped  the 
scarf  from  his  wrists  and  directed  him  to  go.  He  stag 
gered  away  down  the  road  along  which  he  and  Martel 
and  Ricardo  had  come,  walking  like  a  sick  man,  for  he 

57 


THE    NET 

was  crippled  with  fright.  After  a  few  steps  he  began  to 
run,  heavily,  awkwardly  at  first,  stumbling  as  if  his 
joints  were  loose;  but  as  his  body  awoke  and  the  blood 
surged  through  him  he  went  faster  and  faster  until  he  was 
fleeing  like  a  wild  animal.  And  as  he  ran  his  terror  grew. 
He  fell  many  times,  goblin  shapes  pursued  him  or  leaped 
forth  from  the  shadows,  but  he  knew  that  no  matter  how 
fast  he  fled  he  could  never  escape  the  thing  he  had  met 
back  there  in  the  night.  It  was  not  the  grisly  sight  of 
his  murdered  friend  nor  the  bared  teeth  of  Ricardo  Ferara 
grinning  upward  out  of  the  road  which  filled  him  with  the 
greatest  horror;  it  was  the  knowledge  of  his  own  foul, 
sickening  cowardice.  He  ran  wildly  as  if  to  leave  it  be 
hind,  but  it  trod  in  his  tracks  and  kept  step  with  him. 

The  pyrotechnics  at  Terranova  were  nearly  over  and 
the  grounds  echoed  to  the  applause  of  the  delighted  spec 
tators.  The  Donna  Teresa  was  leaning  upon  the  arm  of 
Colonel  Neri  and  saying: 

"No  one  but  that  extravagant  Martel  would  have  en 
tertained  these  poor  people  so  magnificently,  but  there  is 
no  reasoning  with  him  when  he  has  an  idea." 

"It  is  the  finest  display  since  the  fair  at  San  Felice  two 
years  ago,"  the  Colonel  acknowledged.  They  had  come 
out  upon  the  open  piazza  which  overlooked  the  lawn,  and 
the  other  guests  who  had  been  present  at  the  supper  had 
followed  suit  and  were  gathered  there  to  admire  the 
spectacle. 

"The  country  people  will  never  finish  discussing  it. 
Why,  it  has  been  the  greatest  event  this  village  ever 
witnessed.  And  Margherita !  Have  you  ever  seen  her  so 
beautiful?"  The  old  lady  spoke  with  pride,  for  she  was 
very  happy. 

"Never!"  Colonel  Neri  fondled  his  mustache  tenderly. 
"She  is  ablaze  with  love.  Oh,  that  Martel  has  broken  all 
our  hearts,  lucky  fellow!  I  could  hate  him  if  I  did  not 
like  him  so." 

58 


WHAT    WAITED    AT    THE    ROADSIDE 

"You  men,  without  exception,  pretend  to  adore  her, 
but  it  is  flattery;  you  know  that  she  loves  it  and  that  it 
pleases  me.  Now  Martel —  Madonna  mia!  What  is 
this?"  She  broke  off  sharply  and  pointed  toward  the 
main  gateway  to  the  grounds. 

By  the  light  that  gleamed  from  the  trees  on  each  side 
of  the  driveway  men  could  be  seen  approaching  at  a  run ; 
others  were  hurrying  toward  them  across  the  terrace, 
calling  excitedly  to  one  another.  A  woman  screamed 
something  unintelligible,  but  the  tone  of  her  voice  brought 
a  hush  over  the  merrymakers. 

In  the  midst  of  the  group  coming  up  the  road  was  one 
who  labored  heavily.  He  was  bareheaded,  gray  with 
dust,  and  he  staggered  as  if  wounded. 

"Some  one  has  been  hurt,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 
"Maledetto!  There  has  been  a  fight."  He  dropped  his 
companion's  arm  and  hastened  to  the  steps,  then  half 
way  down  paused,  staring.  He  whirled  quickly  and  cried 
to  the  old  lady:  "Wait!  Do  not  come." 

But  Madame  Fazello  had  seen  the  white  face  of  the 
runner,  and  screamed: 

' '  Mother  of  God !     The  American !" 

The  other  guests  from  the  balcony  pressed  forward 
with  alarmed  inquiries.  No  one  guessed  as  yet  what 
had  befallen,  but  the  loud  voices  died  away,  a  mur 
muring  tide  swept  the  merrymakers  toward  the  cas- 
tello. 

"What  has  happened,  Signore?"  Colonel  Neri  was 
crying.  "Speak!" 

"The  Mafia!"  Blake  gasped.  "Martel— is— "  His 
knees  sagged  and  he  would  have  pitched  forward  had  not 
the  soldier  supported  him.  ' '  We  met  them — in  the  woods. 
Cardi— " 

"Cardi!"  echoed  the  Colonel  in  a  harsh  voice. 

"Cardi!"  came  from  a  dozen  frightened  throats.  The 
Donna  Teresa  uttered  a  second  shrill  cry,  and  then  through 

59 


THE   NET 

the  ranks  of  staring",  chalk-faced  peasants  the  Countess 
came  running  swiftly. 

"Cardi!"  she  cried.     "What  is  this  I  hear?" 

"Go  away,  Signorina,  I  beseech  you,"  exclaimed  the  Col 
onel  of  carbineers.  "Something  dreadful  has  occurred." 
But  she  disregarded  him  and  faced  Norvin  Blake. 

He  raised  his  dripping,  dust-smeared  face  and  nodded, 
whereat  she  closed  her  eyes  an  instant  and  swayed.  But 
she  made  no  outcry. 

"Take  her — away,"  he  wheezed  painfully.  "God  in 
heaven!  Don't  you — understand?" 

Even  yet  there  was  no  coherent  speech  and  the  people 
merely  stared  at  one  another  or  inquired,  dully: 

"What  did  he  say ?     What  is  this  about  Cardi ?" 

"Take  her  away,"  Blake  repeated.  But  the  Countess 
recovered  herself  and  with  a  little  gesture  bade  him  go 
on.  He  told  his  story  haltingly,  clinging  to  the  Colonel 
to  prevent  himself  from  falling,  his  matted  head  rolling 
weakly  from  side  to  side.  When  he  had  finished  a  furious 
clamor  broke  forth  from  the  men,  the  women,  and  the 
children.  Neri  commanded  them  roughly  to  silence. 

"Run  to  the  village,  some  one,  and  give  the  alarm," 
he  ordered  in  the  voice  of  a  sick  man.  "  Call  Sandro  and 
his  men  and  bid  them  bring  extra  horses." 

A  half-dozen  fleet-footed  youths  broke  away  and  were 
off  before  he  had  finished  speaking.  Then  Blake  was 
helped  into  the  hall  of  the  castello,  where  the  confusion 
was  less. 

Lucrezia  Ferara,  who  had  been  in  the  rear  of  the  house 
and  was  among  the  last  to  hear  the  evil  tidings,  came 
running  to  him  with  colorless  lips  and  eyes  distended, 
crying : 

"The  truth,  Signore,  for  the  love  of  Christ!  They  tell 
me  he  is  murdered,  but  I  know  it  is  a  lie." 

The  notary's  wife  attempted  to  calm  her,  but  the  girl 
began  to  scream,  flinging  herself  upon  her  knees  at  the 

60 


WHAT   WAITED   AT   THE   ROADSIDE 

feet  of  the  American,  begging  him  to  tell  her  it  was  all  a 
mistake. 

"My  father  would  not  die,"  she  cried,  loudly.  "He 
was  here  but  an  hour  ago  and  he  kissed  me." 

She  would  not  be  calmed  and  became  so  violent  that  it  re 
quired  force  to  remove  her.  As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  the 
way,  Colonel  Neri  began  questioning  Norvin  rapidly,  at 
the  same  time  striving  by  his  own  example  to  steady  the 
young  man,  who  was  in  a  terrible  condition  of  collapse. 
Bit  by  bit,  the  soldier  learned  all  there  was  to  learn  of  the 
shocking  story,  and  through  it  all  the  Countess  Margherita 
stood  at  his  elbow,  never  speaking.  Her  eyes  were  glazed 
with  horror,  her  lips  were  whispering  something  over  and 
over,  but  when  her  cousin  appealed  to  her  to  leave  the 
scene  she  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  She  only  stood  and 
stared  at  the  exhausted  man  until  he  could  bear  it  no 
longer  and,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  he  began  to  shiver 
and  cringe  and  sob. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  must  know;  that  all  these 
people  must  know  the  truth,  and  see  his  shame  as  if  it 
were  blazoned  in  fire.  Their  horror  was  for  him;  their 
looks  were  changing  even  now  to  contempt  and  hatred. 
Why  did  they  not  accuse  him  openly  instead  of  staring 
with  wide,  shocked  eyes?  Realization  had  come  to  him 
long  before  he  had  reached  Terranova,  and  he  was  sick 
with  loathing  for  himself.  Now,  therefore,  in  every 
blanched  cheek,  in  every  parted  lip,  he  felt  an  accusation. 
He  supposed  all  the  world  would  have  to  know  it,  and  it 
was  a  thing  he  could  never  live  down.  He  wished  he 
might  have  died  as  Martel  had  died,  might  die  even  now, 
and  escape  this  torture;  but  with  every  breath  life  flowed 
back  into  him,  his  heart  was  no  longer  bursting,  his  lungs 
were  no  longer  splitting. 

"Why  do  you  wait?"  he  queried  at  length,  thinking  of 
Martel  out  there  on  the  lonely  mountainside.  "Why 
don't  you  go  fetch  him?" 

61 


THE    NET 

Neri  said,  soothingly:  "Help  will  be  here  in  a  few 
moments,  Signore.  You  could  not  sit  a  horse  yet  a  while." 

"I?"  Blake  asked  blankly,  and  shuddered.  So  they 
expected  him  to  return  through  that  darkness — to  guide 
them  to  the  horror  from  which  he  had  just  fled !  He  would 
not  go!  His  mind  recoiled  at  the  thought  and  terror 
came  upon  him  afresh.  Nevertheless,  he  made  an  effort 
at  self-control,  lurched  to  his  feet,  and  chattered  through 
clicking  teeth:  "Come  on!  I'm  ready." 

"Presently!  Presently!  There  will  be  men  and  horses 
here  in  a  moment."  In  a  lower  tone  the  Colonel  urged: 
"For  the  love  of  our  Saviour,  can  you  not  send  the 
Contessa  away?  I  am  afraid  she  is  dying." 

Blake  went  to  the  girl  and  laid  a  shaking  hand  upon 
her  arm,  stammering,  wretchedly: 

"Contessa,  you  —  you — "  He  could  not  go  on  and 
turned  appealingly  to  the  others. 

"You  say  he  is  dead?"  she  inquired  dully.  "How  can 
that  be  when  you  told  me  there  was  no  danger?" 

"I  did  not  know.  Oh —  '  he  lowered  his  working 
features.  "If  it  had  only  been  I,  instead!" 

She  nodded.     "That  would  have  been  better." 

From  somewhere  to  the  rear  of  the  house  came  the 
shrill  screams  of  Lucrezia,  and  the  Countess  cried:  "Poor 
child!  They  did  not  even  spare  Ricardo,  but — after  all, 
he  was  only  a  father." 

Neri  said,  gently:  "Let  me  help  you,  Signorina.  The 
doctor  is  with  your  aunt,  but  I  will  call  him." 

"He  cannot  give  me  back  Martel,"  she  answered  in 
the  same  dull,  lifeless  tone. 

Voices,  footsteps,  sounded  outside  and  a  man  in  the 
cocked  hat  and  uniform  of  a  lieutenant  of  carbineers 
came  briskly  into  the  hall  and  saluted  his  superior. 

"We  are  ready,  sir." 

The  Countess  roused  herself,  saying:  "Then  come! 
I  too  am  ready." 

62 


WHAT    WAITED    AT    THE    ROADSIDE 

"Heaven  above  us!"  Neri  faltered.  "You  are  not 
going."  He  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  away  from 
the  door.  "No,  my  child,  we  will  go  alone.  You  must 
wait."  His  face  was  twitching,  and  the  sweat  dripped 
from  his  square  jaw  as  he  nodded  to  Blake. 

They  went  out  into  the  mocking  glare  of  the  garden 
lights,  leaving  her  standing  in  the  great  hall  like  a  statue 
of  ivory,  her  lips  dumbly  framing  the  name  of  her  lover. 


VI 

A   NEW   RESOLVE 

ALL  Sicily  blazed  with  the  account  of  the  assassination 
of  the  Count  of  Martinello  and  his  overseer.  All  Italy 
took  it  up  and  called  for  vengeance.  There  went  forth 
to  the  world  by  wire,  by  post,  and  through  the  public 
press  a  many-voiced  and  authoritative  promise  that  the 
brigandage  which  had  cursed  the  island  for  so  many 
generations  should  be  extirpated.  The  outrage  was  the 
one  topic  of  conversation  from  Trapani  to  Genoa,  from 
Brindisi  to  Venice,  in  clubs,  in  homes,  upon  the  streets. 
Carbineers  and  soldiers  came  pouring  into  Terranova  and 
San  Sebastiano.  They  scoured  the  mountains  and 
patrolled  the  roads;  they  searched  the  houses  and  farms, 
the  valleys  and  thickets,  and  as  the  days  dragged  on, 
proving  the  futility  of  their  efforts,  still  more  carbineers 
arrived.  But  no  trace  of  Cardi,  of  Narcone,  or  of  the 
other  outlaws  was  discovered.  Rewards  were  offered, 
doubled,  trebled;  the  north  coast  seethed  with  excite 
ment. 

The  rank  of  the  young  Count  and  his  fiancee  enlisted 
the  interest  of  the  nobility,  the  lively-minded  middle 
classes  were  romantically  stirred  by  the  picture  of  the 
lonely  girl  stricken  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding,  and  yet 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  towns  were  searched, 
forests  dragged  as  with  a  net,  no  quarry  came  to  bay. 

Colonel  Neri  explained  it  to  Norvin,  as  he  rode  in  to 
San  Sebastiano  after  thirty-six  hours  in  the  saddle. 

"It  is  this  accursed  Sicilian  Mafia,"  he  growled.     "The 

64 


A   NEW   RESOLVE 

common  people  are  shocked,  horrified,  sympathetic,  and 
yet  they  fear  to  show  their  true  feelings.  They  dare  not 
tell  what  they  know.  Mark  you,  those  men  are  not  hiding 
in  the  forests,  they  are  here  in  San  Sebastiano  or  the  other 
villages  under  our  very  noses;  perhaps  they  are  strutting 
the  streets  of  Palermo  or  Bagheria  or  Messina  marked  by 
a  hundred  eyes,  discussed  by  a  hundred  tongues,  and  yet 
we  cannot  surprise  a  look  or  win  the  slightest  hint.  Fifty 
arrests  have  been  made,  but  there  will  be  fifty  alibis 
proven.  It  is  maddening,  it  is  damnable,  it  is — Sicily!" 
He  swore  wearily  beneath  his  breath,  and  twirled  his 
mustache  with  listless  fingers. 

"Then  you  are  losing  hope?" 

"No.  I  had  none  to  begin  with,  for  I  know  these 
people.  But  we  are  doing  everything  possible.  God  in 
heaven!  The  country  is  wild.  From  Rome  has  come 
the  order,  definite,  explicit,  to  stamp  out  the  banditti, 
if  it  requires  an  army;  enough  soldiers  are  coming  to 
defeat  the  Germans.  But  the  more  we  have  the  less  we 
shall  accomplish.  '  Sweep  Sicily !'  '  Stamp  out  the  Mafia ! ' 
What  does  Rome  know  about  the  Mafia?  Signore,  did 
we  arrest  one  half  of  those  whom  we  know  to  be  Mafiosi, 
Rome  would  need  to  send  us,  not  an  army  of  soldiers,  but 
regiments  of  stone  masons  to  enlarge  our  prisons.  No! 
Send  back  the  armed  men,  give  me  ten  thousand  of  your 
American  dollars,  and  ten  of  my  carbineers,  and  I  will 
catch  Cardi,  though  it  would  require  the  cunning  of  the 
devil.  However,  we  may  find  something;  who  can  tell? 
At  any  rate  we  will  try." 

"Can't  you  work  secretly?" 

"It  is  being  done,  but  we  are  too  many.  We  make  too 
much  noise.  The  Sicilian  distrusts  the  law  and  above 
all  he  distrusts  his  neighbor.  He  will  perjure  himself  to 
acquit  a  Mafioso  rather  than  betray  him  and  become  a 
victim  of  his  vengeance.  He  who  talks  little  is  wise.  Of 
that  which  does  not  concern  him  he  says  neither  good  nor 

5  65 


THE    NET 

evil ;  that  is  a  part  of  the  Sicilians'  training.  But — miracles 
have  happened,  and  God  may  intervene  for  that  saintly 
girl  at  Terranova.  And  now  tell  me,  how  is  the  poor 
child  bearing  up?" 

"I  haven't  seen  her  since  we  brought  in  Martel's  body. 
I  couldn't,  in  fact,  although  I  have  sent  word  for  her 
to  call  me  when  she  is  ready.  It  seems  a  long  time  since — 
since — 

Neri  shook  his  head  in  sorrowful  agreement. 

"  I  have  never  seen  such  grief .  My  heart  bleeds.  She 
was  so  still!  Not  a  tear!  Not  an  outcry!  It  was 
terrible!  Weak  women  do  not  act  in  that  manner.  But 
you  have  suffered  also,  and  I  judge  you  have  rested  no 
more  than  I." 

"I  can't  rest,"  Blake  said,  dully.  "I  can  do  nothing 
but  think."  He  did  not  reveal  the  nature  of  the  thoughts 
which  in  the  short  space  of  thirty-six  hours  had  put  lines 
into  his  face.  Instead,  he  scanned  the  officer's  countenance 
with  fearful  eyes  to  see  if  by  any  chance  he  had  guessed 
the  truth.  Blake  had  found  himself  looking  thus  at  every 
one  since  the  tragedy,  and  it  was  a  source  of  constant 
wonder  to  him  that  his  secret  had  remained  his  own. 
It  seemed  that  they  must  know  and  loathe  him  as  he 
loathed  himself.  But  on  the  contrary  he  was  treated  with 
sympathy  on  all  sides,  and  it  was  taken  merely  as  an 
example  of  the  outlaws'  cunning  that  they  had  refrained 
from  injuring  a  foreigner.  To  illustrate  how  curiously 
the  Sicilian  mind  works  on  these  subjects,  there  were 
some  who  even  spoke  of  it  as  demonstrating  the  fairness 
of  the  bandits,  thus  to  exclude  Savigno's  friend  from  any 
connection  with  their  quarrel. 

During  the  long  hours  since  the  night  of  his  friend's 
death  Blake  had  looked  at  himself  in  all  his  nakedness  of 
soul,  and  the  sight  was  not  pleasant.  He  could  never 
escape  the  thought  that  if  he  had  acted  the  part  of  a  man, 
if  he  had  resisted  with  the  promptness  and  vigor  of  his 

66 


A    NEW    RESOLVE 

companions,  the  result  might  have  been  different  and 
Martel  might  at  this  moment  be  on  his  way  to  Rome  with 
his  bride,  alive  and  well.  On  such  occasions  he  felt  like 
a  murderer.  But  his  mind  was  not  always  undivided 
in  this  self-condemnation;  there  were  times  when  with 
some  show  of  justice  he  told  himself  that  the  result  would 
have  been  the  same  or  even  worse  if  he  had  fought;  and 
he  tried  to  ease  his  conscience  by  dwelling  on  the  possi 
bility  that  under  other  circumstances  he  might  not  have 
proved  a  coward.  He  had  been  physically  tired,  worn 
out;  his  nervous  force  had  been  spent.  At  the  moment 
of  ambush  his  mind  had  been  far  away  and  he  had  had 
no  time  in  which  to  gather  his  wits.  Moral  courage,  he 
knew,  is  quite  different  from  physical  courage,  which  may 
depend  upon  one's  digestion,  one's  state  of  mind,  or  the 
amount  of  sleep  one  has  had.  It  is  sometimes  present  in 
physical  weaklings,  and  men  of  great  daring  may  entirely 
lack  it.  A  man's  behavior  when  suddenly  attacked  and 
overpowered  is  a  test  of  his  nerve  rather  than  his  true 
nature.  Still,  at  the  last,  he  was  always  faced  by  the 
stark,  ugly  fact  that  he  had  been  tried  and  found  wanting. 
Conversation  with  Neri  he  found  rather  a  relief. 

"I  wonder  what  the  Countess  will  do?"  he  said. 

"What  would  any  one  do?  She  will  grieve  for  a  long 
while,  but  time  will  gradually  rob  her  of  her  sorrow.  She 
will  remember  Martel  as  a  saint  and  marry  some  sinner 
like  you  or  me." 

"Marry?     Never!" 

"Never?"  The  Colonel  raised  his  brows.  "She  is 
young,  she  is  human,  she  is  full  of  fire.  It  would  be  a 
great  pity  if  she  did  not  allow  herself  to  love — a  great 
pity  indeed." 

"I'm  afraid  she's  thinking  more  of  vengeance  than  of 
love." 

"Perhaps,  but  hatred  is  short-lived,  while  love  grows 
younger  all  the  time.  The  world  is  full  of  great  loves,  but 

67 


THE    NET 

great  hates  usually  consume  themselves  quickly.  I  hope 
she  will  leave  all  thoughts  of  such  things  to  us  who  make 
a  business  of  them." 

"If  you  fail,  as  you  fear,  she  might  feel  bound  to  take 
up  the  task  where  you  leave  it." 

"And  she  might  succeed.     But — " 

"But  what?" 

"Revenge  is  a  cold  bedfellow,  and  women  are  designed 
to  cherish  finer  sentiments.  As  for  Lucrezia,  she  will 
doubtless  swear  a  vendetta,  like  those  Sardinians." 

"She  has." 

"Indeed!  Well,  she  is  the  kind  to  nourish  hatred,  for 
she  is  like  her  father,  silent,  somber,  unforgiving,  whereas 
the  Contessa  is  all  sunshine.  But  hear  me  talk!  I  am 
dying  of  fatigue.  The  funeral  is  at  twelve?  It  will  be 
very  sad  and  the  poor  girl  will  be  under  the  greatest 
strain  then,  so  we  must  be  with  her,  you  and  I.  And  then 
I  must  be  off  again  upon  the  trail  of  this  infamous  Cardi, 
who  is,  and  who  is  not.  Ah,  well!"  He  yawned  widely. 
"We  may  accomplish  the  impossible,  or  if  not  we  may 
press  him  so  closely  that  he  will  sail  for  your  America, 
which  would  not  be  so  bad,  after  all." 

Of  course  the  country  people  turned  out  for  the  funeral, 
but  for  the  most  part  they  came  from  curiosity.  To 
Norvin  the  presence  of  such  spectators  at  the  last  sacred 
rites  for  the  dead  seemed  sacrilegious,  indecent,  and  he 
knew  that  it  must  add  to  Margherita's  pain.  It  was  an 
endless,  heart-rending  ordeal,  a  great  somber,  impressive 
pageant,  of  which  he  remembered  little  save  a  tall,  tawny 
girl  crushed  beneath  a  grief  so  great  that  his  own  seemed 
trivial  in  comparison. 

She  was  in  such  a  state  of  physical  collapse  after  the 
service  that  she  did  not  send  for  him  until  the  second  day 
following.  He  came  timidly  even  then,  for  he  was  at  a 
loss  how  to  comfort  her,  vividly  conscious  as  he  was  of  his 
own  guilt  and  shame.  He  found  her  crouched  upon  one 

68 


A    NEW    RESOLVE 

of  the  old  stone  benches  in  the  garden  in  the  full  hot  glare 
of  the  sun.  It  relieved  him  to  find  that  she  had  lost  her 
unnatural  self-control,  having  fallen,  it  seemed,  into  much 
the  same  mood  he  would  have  expected  in  any  woman. 
It  had  been  so  hard  to  find  what  to  say  heretofore — for  she 
was  braver  than  those  about  her  and  her  grief  was  so  deep 
as  to  render  words  of  comfort  futile.  Her  eyes  now  were 
heavy  and  full  of  haunting  shadows,  her  ivory  cheeks  were 
pale,  her  lips  tremulous,  and  she  seemed  at  last  to  crave 
sympathy. 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  have  summoned  you,"  she  said, 
leaving  her  hand  in  his,  "unless  it  is  because  my  loneliness 
has  begun  and  I  lack  the  courage  to  face  it." 

"I  have  been  waiting.  It  will  always  be  so,  Contessa. 
I  shall  come  from  across  the  world  whenever  you  need 
me." 

She  smiled  listlessly.  "You  are  very  good.  I  knew 
you  were  waiting.  It  seems  so  strange  to  know  that  he  is 
gone"  —her  voice  caught,  her  eyes  filled,  then  cleared 
without  overflowing  — "  and  that  the  world  is  moving 
on  again  in  the  same  way  and  only  I  am  left  standing 
by  the  wayside.  You  cannot  wait  with  me;  you  must 
move  on  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  You  had  planned 
to  go  home,  and  you  must,  for  you  have  your  work  and  it 
calls  you." 

"Please  don't  think  of  it.  I  sha'n't  leave  you  fora 
long  time.  I  promised  Martel — 

"You  promised?     Then  he  had  reason  to  suspect?" 

"He  would  not  acknowledge  the  possibility,  and  yet  he 
must  have  had  a  premonition." 

"Oh,  why  will  men  trust  themselves  when  women 
know !  If  he  had  told  me,  if  he  had  confided  his  fears  to 
me,  I  could  have  told  him  what  to  do." 

"I  couldn't  leave  now,  even  if  I  wished,  for  I  might  be 
needed  by  the — the  law.  You  understand?  It  isn't 
finished  with  me  yet." 

69 


THE   NET 

"The  law  will  not  need  you,"  she  told  him  bitterly. 
"The  law  will  do  nothing.  The  task  is  for  other  hands." 

After  a  pause  he  said,  "I  had  news  from  home  to-day, 
— rather  bad  news."  Then  at  her  quick  look  of  inquiry 
he  went  on:  "Nothing  serious,  I  hope,  nothing  to  take  me 
away.  My  mother  is  ill  and  has  cabled  me  to  come." 

"Then  you  will  go  at  once,  of  course?" 

"No.  I've  tried  to  explain  to  her  the  situation  here, 
and  the  necessity  of  my  remaining  for  a  time  at  least. 
Unless  she  grows  worse  I  shall  stay  and  try  to  help  Neri 
in  his  search." 

"It  is  a  great  comfort  to  have  you  near,  for  in  you  I 
see  a  part  of — Martel.  You  were  his  other  half.  But 
there  are  other  aching  hearts,  it  seems.  That  mother  calls 
to  you,  and  you  ought  to  go.  Besides,  I  must  begin  my 
work." 

"What  work?" 

She  met  his  eyes  squarely.  "You  know  without  asking. 
Neri  will  fail;  no  Italian  could  succeed;  no  one^could  suc 
ceed  except  a  Sicilian.  I  am  one." 

"You  mean  to  bring  those  men  to  justice?" 

She  nodded.     "Certainly!    Who  else  can  do  it?" 

"But,  my  dear  Signorina,  think  what  that  means. 
They  are  of  a  class  with  which  you  can  have  no  contact. 
They  are  the  dregs;  there  is  the  Mafia  to  reckon  with. 
How  will  you  go  about  it?" 

"I  will  become  one  of  them,  if  necessary." 

He  answered  her  in  a  shocked  voice.  "No,  no!  You 
are  mad  to  think  of  it.  If  you  were  a  man  you  might 
have  some  chance  for  success,  but  you — a  girl,  a  gentle 
woman!" 

"I  am  a  Sicilian.  I  am  rich,  too.  I  have  resources." 
She  took  him  by  the  arm  as  she  had  done  that  first  time 
when  the  thought  of  Martel's  danger  had  roused  her. 
"I  told  you  no  power  could  save  them;  no  hiding-place 
could  be  so  secret,  no  lies  so  cunning  that  I  would  not 

70 


A   NEW    RESOLVE 

know.     Well!     Those  soldiers  have  failed  and  will 
tinue  to  fail.     But  you  see  they  did  not  love  Martel.     I 
shall  live  for  this  thing." 

"I  won't  allow  you  to  dwell  on  the  subject;  it  isn't 
natural,  and  it  isn't  good  for  you.  The  desire  to  see  justice 
done  is  commendable  and  proper,  but  the  desire  for  revenge 
isn't.  You  must  not  sacrifice  your  life  to  it.  There  is  a 
law  of  compensation;  those  men  will  be  apprehended." 

"Where  is  my  compensation?  What  had  Martel  done 
to  warrant  this?" 

He  fell  silent,  and  she  shook  her  head  as  if  to  indicate 
the  hopelessness  of  answering  her.  After  a  moment  of 
meditation  he  began  again,  gravely: 

"If  you  feel  that  way,  I  shall  make  you  an  offer.  Give 
up  your  idea  of  taking  an  active  personal  part  in  this 
quest,  and  I  will  assume  your  place.  We  will  work  to 
gether,  but  you  will  direct  while  I  face  the  risks." 

"You  are  a  stranger.  We  would  be  sure  to  fail.  I 
thank  you,  but  my  mind  is  made  up." 

"If  it  becomes  known,  you  will  be  in  great  danger. 
Think!  Life  is  before  you,  and  all  its  possibilities. 
Please  let  other  hands  do  this." 

"  It  is  useless  to  argue, ' '  she  said,  firmly.  ' '  I  am  like  rock. 
I  have  begun  already  and  I  have  accomplished  more  than 
Colonel  Neri  and  his  carbineers.  I  see  Aliandro  coming 
now,  and  I  think  he  has  news.  He  knows  many  things  of 
which  the  soldiers  do  not  dream,  for  he  is  one  of  the 
people.  You  will  excuse  me?" 

"Of  course,  but — I  can't  let  you  undertake  so  dangerous 
a  task  without  a  protest.  I  shall  come  back,  if  I  may." 

He  rose  as  the  old  man  shuffled  down  the  path,  and  went 
in  search  of  the  Donna  Teresa,  for  he  was  determined  to 
offer  every  discouragement  in  his  power  to  what  struck 
him  as  an  extremely  rash  and  perilous  course.  Men  like 
Belisario  Cardi,  or  Narcone  the  Butcher,  would  hesitate 
no  more  in  attacking  a  woman  than  a  man.  He  knew  the 


THE    NET 

whole  Sicilian  country  to  be  a  web  of  intrigue  and  secret 
understandings,  sensitive  to  the  slightest  touch  and 
possessed  of  many  means  of  communication.  It  was  a 
great  ear  which  heard  the  slightest  stir,  and  its  unfailing 
efficiency  was  shown  by  the  ease  with  which  the  bandits 
had  forestalled  every  effort  of  the  authorities. 

In  the  hall  of  the  manor  house  he  encountered  Lucrezia 
and  stopped  to  speak  to  her. 

"You  would  do  a  great  deal  to  protect  the  Countess, 
would  you  not?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Signore.  She  has  been  both  a  sister  and  a 
mother  to  me.  But  what  do  you  mean?" 

Ferara's  daughter  was  a  robust  girl  of  considerable 
physical  charm,  but  although  her  training  at  Terranova 
had  done  much  for  her,  it  was  still  evident  that  she  was  a 
country  woman.  She  had  nursed  her  grief  with  all  the 
sullen  fierceness  of  a  peasant,  and  even  now  her  face 
and  eyes  were  swollen  from  weeping. 

Blake  explained  briefly  his  concern,  but  when  he  had 
finished,  the  girl  surprised  him  by  breaking  forth  into  a 
furious  denunciation  of  the  assassins.  She  surrendered 
to  her  passion  with  complete  abandon,  and  began  to 
curse  the  names  of  Cardi  and  Gian  Narcone  horribly. 

"We  demand  blood  to  wash  our  blood,"  she  cried.  "I 
curse  them  and  their  souls,  living  and  dead,  in  the  name 
of  God  who  made  my  father,  in  the  name  of  Christ  who 
died  for  him,  in  the  name  of  the  holy  saints  who  could 
not  save  him.  In  the  name  of  the  whole  world  I  curse 
them.  May  they  pray  and  not  be  heard.  May  they 
repent  unforgiven  and  lie  unburied.  May  every  living 
thing  that  bears  their  names  die  in  agony  before  their 
eyes.  May  their  women  and  unborn  children  be  afflicted 
with  every  unclean  thing  until  they  pray  for  death  at 
my  hands — 

"Lucrezia!"  He  seized  her  roughly  and  clapped  his 
hand  over  her  mouth,  for  her  voice  was  rising  steadily 

72 


A   NEW    RESOLVE 

and  threatened  to  rouse  the  whole  household.  Her  cheeks 
were  white,  she  was  shaking  with  long,  tearless  sobs.  She 
would  have  broken  out  again  when  he  released  her  had 
he  not  commanded  her  to  be  silent.  He  tried  to  explain 
that  this  work  of  vengeance  was  not  for  her  or  for  the 
Countess,  and  to  point  out  the  ruin  that  was  sure  to  follow 
any  attempt  on  their  part  to  take  up  the  work  of  the 
carabinieri,  but  she  shook  her  head,  declaring  stub 
bornly: 

"We  have  sworn  it." 

The  more  he  argued  the  more  obstinate  she  became,  until, 
seeing  the  ineffectiveness  of  his  pleas,  he  gave  up  any 
further  effort  to  move  her,  sorry  that  he  had  raised  such 
a  storm.  He  went  on  in  search  of  Madam  Fazello,  with 
Lucrezia's  parting  words  ringing  ominously  in  his  ears: 

"If  we  die,  we  shall  be  buried;  if  we  live,  we  shall  give 
thorn  to  the  hangman." 

From  Margherita's  aunt  he  got  but  little  comfort  or 
hope  of  assistance. 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy,  I  agree  with  your  every  word,"  the 
old  lady  said.  "But  what  can  I  do?  I  know  better 
than  you  what  it  will  lead  to,  but  Margherita  is  like 
iron — there  is  no  reasoning  with  her.  She  would  sacrifice 
herself,  Lucrezia,  even  me,  to  see  Martel  avenged,  and  if 
she  does  not  have  her  way  she  will  burn  herself  to  ashes. 
As  for  Lucrezia,  she  is  demented,  and  they  do  nothing  all 
day  but  scheme  and  plan  with  Aliandro,  who  is  himself 
as  bad  as  any  bandit.  I  have  no  voice  with  them;  they 
do  with  me  as  they  will. ' '  She  hid  her  face  in  her  trembling 
fingers  and  wept  softly.  "And  to  think — we  were  all 
so  happy  with  Martel!" 

"Nevertheless,  somebody  must  dissuade  them  from  this 
enterprise.  It  is  no  matter  for  two  girls  and  an  old  man 
to  undertake." 

"I  pray  hourly  for  guidance,  but  I  am  frightened,  so 
frightened!  When  Margherita  talks  to  me,  when  I  see 

73 


THE    NET 

her  high  resolve,  I  am  ready  to  follow;  then  when  I  am 
alone  I  become  like  water  again." 

"What  are  her  plans?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  have  begged  her  to  take  her  sorrow 
to  God.  The  bishop  who  came  from  Messina  to  marry 
Martel  and  remained  to  bury  him  has  joined  me.  There 
is  a  convent  at  Palermo — " 

"No,  no !"  Blake  cried,  vehemently.  "Not  that !  That 
life  is  not  for  her.  She  must  do  nothing  at  all  until  her 
grief  has  had  time  to  moderate." 

"It  will  never  be  less.  You  do  not  know  her.  But 
you  are  the  one  to  reason  with  her." 

Realizing  that  the  old  lady  was  powerless,  he  returned 
to  the  garden  and  tried  once  more  to  weaken  the  girl's 
resolution,  but  without  success.  It  was  with  a  very 
troubled  mind  that  he  took  the  train  back  to  San  Se- 
bastiano  that  afternoon. 

The  more  he  thought  it  over,  the  more  certain  he  be 
came  that  it  was  his  duty  to  remain  in  Sicily  until  Mar- 
gherita  had  reached  her  right  senses.  Martel  had  put  a 
trust  in  him,  and  what  could  be  more  important  than  to 
prevent  her  from  carrying  out  this  fantastic  enterprise? 
He  would  take  up  the  search  for  the  assassins  in  her  place, 
allowing  her  to  work  through  him  and  in  that  way  satisfy 
ing  her  determination.  What  she  needed  above  all  things 
was  distraction,  occupation.  If  she  remained  persistent 
they  would  work  side  by  side  until  justice  had  been  done, 
and  meanwhile  he  would  become  a  part  of  her  life.  He 
might  make  himself  necessary  to  her.  At  least  he  would 
prevent  her  from  doing  anything  rash  and  perhaps  fatal. 
In  time  he  would  prevail  upon  her  to  travel,  to  seek 
recreation,  and  then  her  youth  would  be  bound  to  tell. 
That  would  be  the  work  of  a  friend  indeed,  that  would 
remove  at  least  a  part  of  the  obligation  which  rested  upon 
him.  Some  day,  he  reasoned,  the  Countess  might  even 
marry  and  be  happy  in  spite  of  what  had  occurred.  As  he 

74 


A   NEW   RESOLVE 

contemplated  the  idea,  it  began  to  seem  less  improbable. 
What  if  she  should  come  to  care  for  him?  He  would  still 
be  true  to  Mattel,  for  how  could  he  protect  her  better 
than  by  making  her  his  wife  ?  His  heart  leaped  at  the 
thought,  but  then  his  old  self-disgust  returned,  reminding 
him  that  he  had  yet  to  prove  himself  a  man. 

As  he  stepped  down  from  the  train  at  San  Sebastiano 
the  station  master  met  him  with  a  telegram.  Even  before 
he  opened  it  he  guessed  its  contents,  and  his  spirits  sank. 
Was  he  never  to  escape  these  maddening  questions  of 
duty — never  to  be  free  to  pursue  his  heart's  desire  ? 

It  was  a  cablegram,  and  read: 

"Come  quickly. 

"KENEAR." 

He  regarded  it  gravely  for  a  moment,  striving  to  balance 
his  duty  to  Mattel  and  the  girl  against  his  duty  to  his 
mother,  but  his  hesitation  was  brief.  He  stepped  into  the 
little  telegraph  office  with  the  mandarin-tree  peering  in 
at  the  open  window  and  wrote  his  answer.  He  did  not 
try  to  deceive  himself;  the  mere  fact  that  Dr.  Kenear 
had  been  summoned  from  New  Orleans  showed  as  plainly 
as  the  message  itself  that  his  mother's  condition  was  more 
serious  than  he  had  supposed.  She  was  alone  with  many 
responsibilities  upon  her  frail  shoulders,  and  she  was 
calling  for  her  son.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do. 

He  stopped  at  the  barracks  to  explain  the  necessity  for 
his  immediate  departure  to  Colonel  Neri,  who  was  most 
sympathetic. 

"You  are  not  needed  here,"  the  soldier  assured  him, 
"and  you  would  have  to  go,  even  though  you  were.  You 
made  your  statement  at  the  inquest;  there  is  nothing 
further  for  you  to  do  until  we  accomplish  the  capture  of 
somebody.  Even  then  I  doubt  if  you  could  identify  any 
one  of  those  bandits." 

75 


"I  think  I  should  know  Narcone  anywhere." 

The  Colonel  shrugged.  "Narcone  has  been  swallowed 
by  the  earth.  As  for  Cardi  and  the  rest,  they  have  be 
come  thin  smoke  and  the  wind  has  carried  them  away. 
We  are  precisely  where  we  were  at  the  start.  Perhaps  it  is 
fortunate  for  you  that  you  have  not  been  called  upon  to 
testify  against  any  of  the  band,  for  even  the  fact  that 
you  are  a  foreigner  might  not  save  you  from — unpleasant 
results." 

Norvin  reasoned  silently  that  if  this  were  indeed  true 
it  more  than  confirmed  his  fears  for  the  Countess,  and 
after  a  brief  hesitation  he  told  the  soldier  what  he  had 
learned  at  his  visit  to  Terranova.  Neri  rose  and  paced 
the  room  in  agitation. 

"Oh!  She  is  mad  indeed !"  he  exclaimed.  "What  can 
she  do  that  we  have  not  already  done  ?  Aliandro  ?  Bah ! 
He  is  a  doddering  old  reprobate  who  will  spread  news 
instead  of  gather  it.  He  has  a  bad  record,  and  although 
he  loved  Martel  and  doubtless  loves  Margherita,  I  have 
no  confidence  in  him  whatever.  She  will  accomplish 
nothing  but  her  own  undoing." 

' '  I  am  afraid  so,  too.  That  is  why  I  shall  return  to  Sicily 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"Indeed?  Then  you  plan  to  come  back?  Martel  was 
fortunate  to  have  so  good  a  friend  as  you,  Signore.  We 
must  both  do  all  we  can  to  prevent  this  folly  on  the  part 
of  his  sweetheart.  You  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  make 
every  effort  in  your  absence."  The  Colonel  extended  his 
hand,  and  Norvin  took  it,  feeling  some  relief  in  the 
knowledge  that  there  was  at  least  one  man  close  to  the 
girl  upon  whose  caution  he  could  rely  and  upon  whose 
good  offices  he  could  count.  He  had  grown  to  like  the 
soldier  during  their  brief  acquaintance,  and  the  fact  that 
Neri  knew  and  appreciated  the  situation  helped  to  recon 
cile  him  to  the  thought  of  going  away. 

He  was  not  ready  to  leave  Sicily,  however,  without  one 

76 


A    NEW    RESOLVE 

final  appeal,  and  accordingly  he  stopped  at  Terranova  on 
the  following  morning  on  his  way  to  Messina,  where  a 
boat  was  sailing  for  Naples  that  night.  But  he  found  no 
change  in  the  Countess;  on  the  contrary,  she  told  him 
gently  but  firmly  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  once  for 
all  and  that  she  would  resent  any  further  efforts  at  dissuasion. 

"Won't  you  even  wait  until  I  return?"  he  inquired. 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  sadly. 

"Do  not  let  us  deceive  ourselves,  amico  mio;  you  will 
not  return." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  shall.  You  make  it  necessary  for 
me  to  return  whether  I  wish  to  or  not." 

"The  ocean  is  wide,  the  world  moves.  You  are  a  for 
eigner  and  you  will  forget.  It  is  only  in  Sicily  that 
people  remember." 

"Will  you  give  me  time  to  prove  you  wrong?" 

"I  could  not  allow  it.  You  have  your  own  life  to  live; 
you  have  a  multitude  of  duties.  Martel,  you  see,  was 
only  your  friend.  But  with  me  it  is  different.  He  was 
my  lover;  my  life  was  a  part  of  his  and  my  duty  will  not 
let  me  sleep." 

"You  have  no  reason  to  say  I  will  forget." 

"It  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Then,  too,  there  is  the 
other  woman.  You  will  see  her.  You  will  find  a  way, 
perhaps." 

But  he  replied,  doggedly,  "I  shall  return  to  Sicily." 

"When?" 

"I  can't  tell.  A  month  from  now — two  months  at  the 
longest." 

"It  would  be  very  sweet  to  have  you  near,"  she  said 
musingly,  "for  I  am  lonely,  very  lonely,  and  with  you  I 
feel  at  rest,  at  peace  in  a  way.  But  something  drives  me, 
Signore,  and  I  cannot  promise.  If  you  should  not  forget, 
if  you  should  wish  to  join  hands  with  me,  then  I  should 
thank  God  and  be  very  glad.  But  I  sha'n't  wish  for  it; 
that  would  be  unfair." 

77 


THE    NET 

His  voice  shook  as  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  prove  to 
you  that  your  life  is  not  hopelessly  wrecked,  and  to  show 
you  that  there  is  something  worth  living  for." 

She  laid  her  two  cool  hands  in  his  and  looked  deeply  into 
his  eyes,  but  if  she  saw  what  lay  in  them  she  showed  no 
altered  feeling  in  her  words  or  tone. 

"  Martel  would  be  glad  to  have  you  near  me,  I  am  sure," 
she  said,  "but  I  shall  only  pray  for  your  safety  and  your 
happiness  in  that  far-off  America.  Good-by." 

He  kissed  her  fingers,  vowing  silently  to  devote  his 
whole  life  to  her,  and  finding  it  very  hard  to  leave. 


VII 

THE    SEARCH    BEGINS 

IT  was  ten  months  later  when  Norvin  Blake  landed  at 
Messina  and  took  the  morning  train  westward  to  Terra- 
nova.  As  he  disposed  his  travelling-bags  in  a  corner  of 
his  compartment,  and  settled  himself  for  the  short  journey, 
he  felt  a  kind  of  irrational  surprise  at  the  fact  that  there 
had  been  no  changes  during  his  absence.  The  city  was 
just  as  dirty  and  uninteresting  as  when  he  had  left,  the 
beggars  were  just  as  ragged  and  importunate,  the  street 
coaches  were  just  as  rickety.  It  required  an  effort  to 
realize  that  ten  months  is,  after  all,  a  very  short  time,  for 
it  seemed  ten  years  since  he  had  sailed  away.  It  had  been 
a  difficult  period  for  him,  one  crowded  with  many  changes, 
readjustments,  and  responsibilities.  He  had  gone  far, 
he  had  done  much,  he  had  been  pressed  by  cares  and 
anxieties  on  every  side,  and  even  at  the  last  he  had  wil 
fully  abandoned  urgent  duties,  to  his  own  great  loss  and 
to  the  intense  disgust  of  his  friends,  in  order  to  come  back 
according  to  his  promise.  His  return  had  been  delayed 
from  week  to  week,  from  month  to  month,  in  spite  of  all 
he  could  do,  and  meanwhile  his  thoughts  had  not  been  in 
America  at  all,  but  in  Sicily,  causing  him  to  fret  and  chafe 
at  the  necessities  which  bound  him  to  his  post.  Now, 
however,  the  day  upon  which  he  had  counted  had  arrived; 
he  had  taken  his  liberty  regardless  of  consequences,  and 
no  dusty  pilgrim  ever  longed  more  fiercely  for  a  journey's 
end.  He  was  glad  of  the  impression  of  sameness  he  had 
received,  for  it  made  him  feel  that  there  would  be  no  great 
changes  in  Terranova. 

79 


THE    NET 

He  had  learned  little  from  the  Countess  during  the 
interim,  for  she  had  been  slow  in  answering  his  frequent 
letters,  while  her  own  had  been  brief  and  non-committal. 
They  contained  hardly  a  suggestion  of  that  warmth  of 
intimacy  which  he  had  known  in  her  presence.  Her  last 
letter,  now  quite  old,  had  added  to  this  impression  of 
aloofness  and  rendered  him  somewhat  timid  as  the  time 
for  meeting  her  approached.  He  re-read  it  for  the 
hundredth  time  as  the  train  crawled  out  of  the  city — 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  good  letter  was  very  welcome 
indeed,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  sympathetic  interest 
in  our  affairs  at  Terranova,  but  since  fate  has  shown  in 
so  many  ways  that  your  life  lies  in  Louisiana,  and  not  in 
Sicily,  I  beg  of  you  to  let  things  take  their  course  and  to 
give  up  any  idea  of  returning  here.  There  is  nothing 
that  you  can  do,  particularly  since  time  has  proved  your 
fears  for  our  safety  to  be  groundless.  It  is  kind  and  chiv 
alrous  of  you  to  persist  in  offering  to  take  that  long 
journey  from  America,  but  nothing  would  be  gained  by 
it,  absolutely  nothing,  I  assure  you,  and  it  would  entail 
a  sacrifice  on  your  part  which  I  cannot  permit. 

"Very  little  of  interest  or  of  encouragement  has  oc 
curred  here,  but  I  am  working.  I  shall  always  work. 
Some  day  I  shall  succeed.  Meanwhile  we  talk  of  you  and 
are  heartened  by  your  friendship,  which  seems  very  close 
and  real,  despite  the  miles  that  separate  us.  We  shall 
cherish  it  and  the  memory  of  your  loyalty  to  Martel. 
Meanwhile,  you  must  not  feel  bound  by  your  promise  to 
come  back,  which  was  not  a  promise,  after  all,  but  merely  an 
unselfish  offer.  Once  again  I  repeat,  it  would  do  no  good, 
and  might  only  disappoint  you.  Besides,  I  am  hoping 
that  you  have  seen  the  woman  of  whom  you  told  me,  and 
that  she  will  need  you. 

"We  are  all  well.     We  have  made  no  plans. 

"  Yours  gratefully,     MARGHERITA  GININI." 
80 


THE   SEARCH    BEGINS 

It  was  certainly  unsatisfying,  but  her  letters  had  all 
been  of  this  somewhat  formal  nature.  She  persisted,  too, 
in  referring  to  that  imaginary  woman,  and  Blake  re 
gretted  ever  having  mentioned  her.  If  Margherita 
suspected  the  truth,  she  could  not  help  feeling  his  lack  of 
delicacy,  his  disloyalty  to  Martel,  in  confessing  his  love 
while  the  Count  was  still  alive;  if  she  really  believed  him 
to  be  in  love  with  some  other  woman,  it  would  necessitate 
sooner  or  later  an  explanation  which  he  dreaded.  At  all 
events,  he  hoped  that  the  surprise  of  seeing  him  un 
expectedly,  the  knowledge  that  he  had  really  crossed  the 
world  to  help  her,  would  tend  to  dissipate  her  melancholy 
and  restore  her  old  responsiveness. 

During  the  months  of  his  absence  the  girl  had  never 
been  out  of  his  mind,  and  he  had  striven  hard  to  reconcile 
his  unconquerable  love  for  her  with  the  sense  of  his  own 
unworthiness.  His  unforgivable  cowardice  was  a  haunting 
shame,  and  the  more  he  dwelt  upon  it  the  more  unspeak 
ably  vile  he  appeared  in  his  own  sight ;  for  the  Blakes  were 
honorable  people.  The  family  was  old  and  cherished 
traditions  common  to  fine  Southern  houses;  the  men  of 
his  name  prided  themselves  upon  an  especially  nice  sense 
of  honor,  which  had  been  conspicuous  even  in  a  country 
where  bravery  and  chivalrous  regard  for  women  are  basic 
ideals.  Having  been  reared  in  such  an  atmosphere,  the 
young  man  looked  upon  his  own  behavior  with  almost  as 
much  surprise  as  chagrin.  He  had  always  taken  it  for 
granted  that  if  he  should  be  confronted  with  peril  he 
would  behave  himself  like  a  man.  It  was  inexplicable 
that  he  had  failed  so  miserably,  for  he  had  no  reason  to 
suspect  a  heritage  of  cowardice,  and  he  was  sound  in  mind 
and  body.  He  loved  Margherita  Ginini  with  all  his  heart 
and  his  resolution  to  win  her  was  stronger  than  ever,  but 
he  felt  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  have  to  prove  himself 
as  manly  as  Martel  had  been,  and,  having  lost  faith  in 
himself,  the  prospect  frightened  him.  If  she  ever  dis- 
6  81 


THE    NET 

covered  the  truth  —  and  such  things  are  very  hard  to 
conceal — she  would  spurn  him:  any  self-respecting  woman 
would  do  the  same. 

He  had  forced  himself  to  an  unflinching  analysis  of  his 
case,  with  the  result  that  a  fresh  determination  came  to 
him.  He  resolved  to  reconstruct  his  whole  being.  If  he 
were  indeed  a  physical  coward  he  would  deliberately 
uproot  the  weakness  and  make  himself  into  a  man. 
Others  had  accomplished  more  difficult  tasks,  he  reasoned; 
thieves  had  made  themselves  into  honest  men,  criminals 
had  become  decent.  Why,  then,  could  not  a  coward 
school  himself  to  become  brave?  It  was  merely  a  ques 
tion  of  will  power,  not  so  hard,  perhaps,  as  the  cure  of  some 
drug  habit.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  attack  the  problem 
coldly,  systematically,  and  he  swore  solemnly  by  all  his 
love  for  Margherita  that  he  would  make  himself  over  into 
a  person  who  could  not  only  win  but  hold  her.  As  yet 
there  had  been  no  opportunity  of  putting  the  plan  into 
operation,  but  he  had  mapped  out  a  course. 

Terranova  drowsed  among  the  hills  just  as  he  had  left 
it,  and  high  up  to  the  right,  among  the  trees,  he  saw  the 
white  walls  of  the  castello.  As  he  mounted  the  road 
briskly  a  goat-herd,  flat  upon  his  back  in  the  sun,  was 
piping  some  haunting  air;  a  tinkle  of  bells  came  from  the 
hillside,  the  vines  were  purple  with  fruit.  Women  were 
busy  in  the  vineyards  gathering  their  burdens  and  bearing 
them  to  the  tubs  for  the  white  feet  of  the  girls  who  trod 
the  vintage. 

Nearing  his  goal,  he  saw  that  the  house  had  an  unoc 
cupied  air,  and  he  found  the  big  gates  closed.  Since  no 
one  appeared  in  answer  to  his  summons,  he  made  his  way 
around  to  the  rear,  where  he  discovered  Aliandro  sunning 
himself. 

"Well,  Aliandro!"  he  cried.  "This  is  good  weather  for 
rheumatism." 

The  old  man  peered  up  at  him  uncertainly,  muttering: 

82 


THE   SEARCH    BEGINS 

"The  saints  in  heaven  are  smiling  to-day." 

"Where  are  the  Contessa  Margherita  and  her  aunt?" 

"They  are  where  their  business  takes  them,  I  dare  say. 
Ma  che?" 

"Gone  to  Messina,  perhaps?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Visiting  friends?" 

"Exactly."  Aliandro  nodded.  "They  are  visiting 
friends  in  Messina." 

"I  wish  I  had  known;  I  just  came  from  there.  Will 
they  return  soon?"  Blake's  hopes  had  been  so  high, 
his  disappointment  was  so  keen,  that  he  failed  to  notice 
the  old  man's  lack  of  greeting  and  his  crafty  leer  as  he 
answered : 

"Si,  veramente!  Soon,  very  soon.  Within  a  year — 
five  years,  at  the  outside." 

"What?" 

"Oh,  they  will  return  so  soon  as  it  pleases  them."  He 
chuckled  as  if  delighted  at  his  own  secrecy. 

Norvin  said  sharply:  " Come,  come!  Don't  jest  with  me. 
I  have  traveled  a  long  way  to  see  them.  I  wish  to  know 
their  whereabouts." 

"Then  ask  some  one  who  knows.  If  ever  I  was  told, 
I  have  forgotten,  Si'or.  My  memory  goes  jumping  about 
like  a  kid.  It  is  the  rheumatism."  After  an  instant 
more,  he  queried,  "You  are  perhaps  a  friend  of  that  thrice- 
blessed  angel,  my  padrona?" 

With  an  exclamation  of  relief  Norvin  laid  a  hand  upon 
the  old  fellow's  shoulder  and  shook  him  gently. 

"Have  your  eyes  failed  you,  my  good  Aliandro?"  he 
cried.  "Don't  you  recognize  the  American?  —  the  Sig- 
nore  Blake,  who  came  here  with  the  Count  of  Martinello? 
Look  at  me  and  tell  me  where  your  mistress  has  gone." 

Aliandro  arose  and  peered  into  his  visitor's  face,  wagging 
his  loose  jaws  excitedly. 

"As  God  is  my  judge,"  he  declared,  finally,  "I  believe 

83 


THE    NET 

it  is.  Che  Dio!  Who  would  have  expected  to  see  you? 
Yes,  yes !  I  remember  as  if  it  were  yesterday  when  you 
came  riding  up  with  that  most  illustrious  gentleman  who 
now  sits  in  Paradise.  It  is  a  miracle  that  you  have  crossed 
the  seas  so  many  times  in  safety." 

"So!     Now  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  They  have  gone." 

"Where?" 

"How  do  I  know?  Find  Belisario  Cardi — may  he  live 
a  million  years  in  hell !  Find  him,  and  you  will  find  them 
also." 

"You  mean — 

"Find  Belisario  Cardi,  that  most  infamous  of  assassins. 
My  padrona  has  set  out  to  say  good  morning  to  him. 
He  may  even  now  be  on  his  way  to  purgatory." 

Blake  stared  at  the  speaker,  for  he  could  not  credit  the 
words.  Once  more  he  asked: 

"But  where?     Where?" 

"Where,  indeed?  If  I  had  known  in  time  where  this 
Cardi  lived  I  would  have  knocked  at  his  door  some 
evening  with  the  hilt  of  a  knife.  But  he  was  never  twice 
in  the  same  place.  He  has  the  ears  of  a  fox.  So  long  as 
the  soldiers  went  tramping  back  and  forth  he  laughed. 
Then  he  must  have  heard  something — perhaps  it  was 
Aliandro  whetting  his  blade — at  any  rate  he  was  gone 
in  an  hour,  in  a  moment,  in  a  second.  Now  I  know 
nothing  more." 

"She  took  the  Donna  Teresa  with  her?" 

"Yes,  squealing  like  a  cat.  She  is  too  old  to  be  of  use, 
but  the  Contessa  could  not  leave  her  behind,  I  suppose." 

Norvin  felt  some  relief  at  this  intelligence,  reflecting 
that  Margherita  would  hardly  draw  her  aunt  into  an 
enterprise  which  promised  to  be  dangerous.  As  he  con 
sidered  the  matter  further  he  began  to  doubt  the  truth  of 
Aliandro's  story,  for  the  old  fellow  seemed  half  daft. 
Perhaps  the  Countess  and  her  aunt  were  merely  traveling 

84 


THE    SEARCH    BEGINS 

and  Aliandro  had  construed  their  trip  into  a  journey  of 
vengeance.  He  had  doubtless  spent  all  his  time  medi 
tating  upon  the  murder  of  his  friend  and  benefactor,  and 
that  was  a  subject  which  might  easily  unbalance  a  stronger 
mind.  Ten  months  had  worked  a  change  in  Blake's  view 
point.  When  he  left  Sicily  the  idea  of  a  girl's  devoting 
her  life  to  the  pursuit  of  her  lover's  assassins  had  seemed 
to  him  extravagant,  yet  not  wholly  unnatural.  Now  it 
struck  him  as  beyond  belief  that  Margherita  should  really 
do  this.  Aliandro  was  continuing: 

"It  is  work  for  young  hands,  Excellency.  Old  people 
grow  weary  and  forget,  especially  women.  Now  that 
Lucrezia,  she  is  a  fine  child;  she  can  hate  like  the  devil 
himself  and  she  is  as  silent  as  a  Mafioso.  It  was  two 
months  ago  that  they  went  away,  and  that  angel  of  gold, 
that  sweetest  of  ladies  whom  the  saints  are  quarreling 
over,  she  left  me  sufficient  money  for  the  balance  of 
my  days.  But  I  will  tell  you  something,  Excellency — a 
scandal  to  make  your  blood  boil.  She  left  that  money  with 
the  notary.  And  now,  what  do  you  think?  He  gives  me 
scarcely  enough  for  tobacco!  Once  a  week,  sometimes 
oftener,  I  go  down  to  the  village  and  whine  like  a  beggar 
for  what  is  mine.  A  fine  man  to  trust,  eh?  May  he  lie 
unburied !  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  have  to  kill  him,  he 
is  so  hard-hearted,  but — I  cannot  see  well  enough.  If  you 
should  find  him  kicking  in  the  road,  however,  you  will 
know  that  he  brought  it  upon  himself.  You  are  shocked  ? 
No  wonder.  He  is  a  greater  scoundrel  than  that  Judas. 
Perhaps  you — you  are  a  great  friend  of  the  family— 
perhaps  you  might  force  the  wolf  to  disgorge.  Eh? 
What  do  you  say?  A  word  would  do  it.  You  will  save 
his  life  in  all  probability." 

"Very  well,  I'll  speak  to  him,  and  meanwhile  here  is 
something  to  please  you."  Norvin  handed  the  old 
ruffian  a  gold  coin,  greatly  to  his  delight.  "They  have 
been  gone  two  months  and  you  have  had  no  word?" 

85 


THE    NET 

"Not  a  whisper.  Once  a  week  the  notary  comes  up 
from  the  village  to  see  that  all  is  well  with  the  house. 
Many  people  have  asked  me  the  same  questions  you 
asked.  Some  of  them  know  me,  and  I  know  some  who 
think  I  do  not.  They  would  like  to  trick  me  into  be 
traying  the  whereabouts  of  the  Contessa,  but  I  lie  like 
a  lawyer  and  tell  them  first  one  thing,  then  another. 
Body  of  Christ!  I  am  no  fool." 

When  Norvin  had  put  himself  in  possession  of  all  that 
Aliandro  knew  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  village,  where 
the  notary  confirmed  practically  all  the  old  man  had  said, 
but  declared  positively  that  the  Countess  and  her  admi 
rable  aunt  were  traveling  for  pleasure. 

"What  else  would  take  them  abroad?"  he  inquired. 
"Nothing!  I  have  the  honor  to  look  after  the  castello 
during  their  absence  and  the  rents  from  the  land  are 
placed  in  the  bank  at  Messina." 

"When  do  you  expect  them  to  return?" 

"Privately,  Signore,  I  do  not  expect  them  to  return 
at  all.  That  shocking  tragedy  preyed  upon  the  poor 
child's  mind  until  she  could  no  longer  endure  Terranova. 
She  is  highly  sensitive,  you  know;  everything  spoke  of 
Martel  Savigno.  What  more  natural  than  for  her  to  wish 
never  to  see  it  again?  She  consulted  me  once  regarding 
a  sale  of  all  the  lands,  and  only  last  week  some  men  came 
with  a  letter  from  the  bank  at  Messina.  They  were 
Englishmen,  I  believe,  or  perhaps  Germans — I  can  never 
tell  the  difference,  if  indeed  there  is  any.  I  showed  them 
through  the  house.  It  would  be  a  great  loss  to  the  village, 
however,  yes,  and  to  the  whole  countryside,  if  they  pur 
chased  Terranova,  for  the  Countess  was  like  a  ray  of 
sunshine,  like  an  angel's  smile.  And  so  generous!" 

"Tell  me — Cardi  was  never  found?" 

The  notary  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "As  for  me,  I  have 
never  believed  there  was  such  a  person.  Gian  Narcone, 
yes.  We  all  knew  him,  but  he  has  not  been  heard  from 

86 


THE   SEARCH    BEGINS 

since  that  terrible  night  which  we  both  remember.  Now 
this  Cardi,  well,  he  is  imaginary.  If  he  were  flesh  and 
blood  the  carabinieri  would  certainly  have  caught  him — 
there  were  enough  of  them.  Per  Baccho!  You  never 
saw  the  like  of  it.  They  were  thicker  than  flies." 

"And  yet  they  didn't  catch  Narcone,  and  he's  real 
enough." 

"True,"  acknowledged  the  notary,  thoughtfully.  "I 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  light.  Perhaps  there  is  such  a 
person,  after  all.  But  why  has  no  one  ever  seen  him?" 

"Where  is  Colonel  Neri?" 

"He  is  stationed  at  Messina.  Perhaps  he  could  tell 
you  more  than  I." 

Dismayed,  yet  not  entirely  discouraged,  by  what  he 
had  learned,  Blake  caught  the  first  train  back  to  Messina 
and  that  evening  found  him  at  Neri's  rooms.  The  Colonel 
v/as  delighted  to  see  him,  but  could  tell  him  little  more 
than  Aliandro  or  the  notary. 

"Do  you  really  believe  the  Countess  left  Sicily  to 
travel?"  Blake  asked  him. 

"To  you  I  will  confess  that  I  do  not.  We  know  better 
than  that,  you  and  I.  She  was  working  constantly  from 
the  time  you  left  for  America  until  her  own  departure,  but 
I  never  knew  what  she  discovered.  That  she  learned  more 
than  we  did  I  am  certain,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  she 
found  the  trail  of  Cardi." 

"Then  you're  not  like  the  others.  You  still  believe 
there  is  such  a  person?" 

"Whether  he  calls  himself  Cardi  or  something  else 
makes  no  difference;  there  has  been  an  intelligence  of  a 
high  order  at  work  among  the  Mafiosi  and  the  banditti 
of  this  neighborhood  for  many  years.  We  learned  things 
after  you  left ;  we  were  many  times  upon  the  verge  of  im 
portant  discoveries;  but  invariably  we  were  thwarted  at 
the  last  moment  by  that  Sicilian  trait  of  secrecy  and  by 
some  very  potent  terror.  We  tried  our  best  to  get  to  the 

87 


THE    NET 

bottom  of  this  fear  I  mention,  but  we  could  not.  It  was 
more  than  the  customary  distrust  and  dislike  of  the  law;  it 
was  a  lively  personal  dread  of  some  man  or  body  of  men. 
The  fact  that  we  have  been  working  nearly  a  year  now 
without  result  would  indicate  that  the  person  at  the  head 
of  the  organization  is  no  common  fellow.  No  one  dares 
betray  him,  even  at  the  price  of  a  fortune.  I  believe  him 
to  be  some  man  of  affairs,  some  well-fed  and  respected 
merchant,  or  banker,  perhaps,  the  knowledge  of  whose 
identity  would  cause  a  commotion  such  as  Etna  causes 
when  she  turns  over  in  her  sleep." 

"That  was  Ricardo's  belief,  you  remember." 

"Yes.  I  have  many  reasons  for  thinking  he  was  right, 
but  I  have  no  proof.  Cardi  may  still  be  in  Sicily,  although 
I  doubt  it.  Gian  Narcone  has  fled;  that  much  I  know." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes!  The  pursuit  became  hot;  we  did  not  rest!  I 
do  not  see,  even  yet,  how  we  failed  to  capture  him.  We 
apprehended  a  number  whom  we  know  were  in  the  band, 
although  we  have  no  evidence  connecting  them  with  that 
particular  outrage.  I  think  we  will  convict  them  for 
something  or  other,  however;  at  any  rate,  we  have  broken 
up  this  gang,  even  though  we  have  lost  the  two  men  we 
most  desired.  Narcone  went  to  Naples.  He  may  be 
there  now,  he  may  be  in  any  part  of  Italy,  or  he  may  even 
be  in  your  own  America,  for  all  I  know.  And  this  mys 
terious  Cardi  is  probably  with  him.  It  is  my  hope  that 
we  have  frightened  them  off  the  island  for  all  time." 

"And  sent  them  to  my  country!  Thanks!  We're 
having  trouble  enough  with  our  own  Italians,  as  it  is." 

"You  at  least  have  more  room  than  we.  But  now, 
before  we  go  further,  you  must  tell  me  about  yourself, 
about  your  mother— 

Norvin  shook  his  head  gravely.  "I  arrived  in  time 
to  see  her,  to  be  with  her  at  the  last,  that  is  all." 

"I   am  indeed  full  of  sympathy,"  said  Neri.     "It  is 


THE    SEARCH    BEGINS 

no  wonder  you  could  not  return  to  Sicily  as  soon  as  you 
had  planned." 

"Everything  conspired  to  hold  me  back.  There  were 
many  things  that  needed  attention,  for  her  affairs  had 
become  badly  mixed  and  required  a  strong  hand  to 
straighten  them  out.  Yet  all  the  time  I  knew  I  was 
needed  here ;  I  knew  the  Countess  was  in  want  of  some  one 
to  lean  upon.  I  came  at  the  first  opportunity,  but — it 
seems  I  am  too  late.  I  am  afraid,  Neri — afraid  for  her. 
God  knows  what  she  may  do." 

"God  knows ! ' '  agreed  the  soldier.  ' ' I  pleaded  with  her ; 
I  tried  to  argue." 

"But  surely  she  can't  absolutely  disappear  in  this  fash 
ion.  She  will  have  to  make  herself  known  sooner  or  later." 

"I'm  not  so  certain.  Her  affairs  are  in  good  shape  and 
Terranova  is  for  sale." 

"Doesn't  the  bank  know  her  whereabouts?" 

"If  so,  she  has  instructed  them  to  conceal  it." 

"Nevertheless  I  shall  go  there  in  the  morning  and  also 
to  her  cousins.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"Of  course!"  Neri  regarded  the  young  man  curiously 
for  an  instant,  then  said,  "You  will  pardon  this  question, 
I  hope,  but  since  she  has  taken  such  pains  to  conceal 
herself,  do  you  think  it  wise  to — to — 

"To  force  myself  upon  her?  I  don't  know  whether  it  is 
wise  or  foolish;  all  I  know  is  that  I  must  find  her.  I 
must!"  Blake  met  the  older  man's  eyes  and  his  own 
were  filled  with  a  great  trouble.  "You  told  me  once  that 
revenge  and  hatred  are  bad  companions  for  a  woman 
and  that  it  would  be  a  great  pity  if  Margherita  Ginini 
did  not  allow  herself  to  love  and  be  loved.  I  think  you 
were  right.  I'm  afraid  to  let  her  follow  this  quest  of  hers; 
it  may  lead  her  into  something — very  bad,  for  she  has 
unlimited  capabilities  for  good  or  evil.  I  had  hoped  to — 
to  show  her  that  God  had  willed  her  to  be  happy.  You  see, 
Neri,  I  loved  her  even  when  Martel  was  alive." 

89 


THE    NET 

The  Colonel  nodded.  "I  guessed  as  much.  All  men 
love  her,  and  there  lies  her  danger.  I  love  her,  also, 
Signore.  I  have  always  loved  her,  even  though  I  am  old 
enough  to  be  her  father,  and  I  would  give  my  life  to  see 
her — well,  to  see  her  your  wife.  You  understand  me?  I 
would  help  you  find  her  if  I  could,  but  I  am  a  soldier.  I 
am  chained  to  my  post.  I  am  poor." 

"Jove!  You're  mighty  decent,"  said  the  American  with 
an  odd  breathlessness.  "But  do  you  think  she  could  ever 
forget  Martel?" 

"She  is  not  yet  twenty." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  possibility  of  my  winning 
her?  I  thought  so  once,  but  lately  I  have  been  terribly 
doubtful." 

"I  should  say  it  will  depend  largely  upon  your  finding 
her.  We  are  not  the  only  good  men  who  will  love  her. 
They  sailed  from  here  to  Naples  on  the  trail  of  Narcone; 
that  much  I  believe  is  reasonably  certain.  I  will  give  you 
a  letter  to  the  police  there,  and  they  will  help  you.  It  is 
possible  that  we  excite  ourselves  unduly ;  perhaps  you  will 
have  no  difficulty  whatever  in  locating  her,  but  in  the  mean 
time  we  will  do  well  to  talk  with  her  relatives  and  with  the 
officials  of  the  bank.  I  look  for  little  help  from  those 
quarters,  however." 

Colonel  Neri's  misgivings  were  well  founded,  as  the 
following  day  proved.  At  the  bank  nothing  definite  was 
known  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Countess.  She  had 
left  instructions  for  the  rents  to  be  collected  until  Terra- 
nova  was  sold  and  then  for  all  moneys  to  be  held  until  she 
advised  further.  Her  cousins  were  under  the  impression 
that  she  had  taken  her  aunt  to  northern  Italy  for  a 
change  of  climate  and  believed  that  she  could  be  found  in 
the  mountains  somewhere.  Blake  was  not  long  in  dis 
covering  that  while  the  relations  between  the  two  branches 
of  the  family  were  maintained  with  an  outward  show  of 
cordiality  they  were  really  not  of  the  closest.  Neri  told 

90 


THE   SEARCH   BEGINS 

him,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  Margherita  had  always 
considered  these  people  covetous  and  untrustworthy. 

Having  exhausted  the  clues  at  Messina,  Norvin  ha 
stened  to  Naples  and  there  took  up  his  inquiry.  He  pre 
sented  his  letter,  but  the  police  could  find  no  trace  of  the 
women  and  finally  told  him  that  they  must  have  passed 
through  the  city  without  stopping,  perhaps  on  their  way 
to  Rome.  So  to  Rome  he  went,  and  there  met  a  similar 
discouragement.  By  now  he  was  growing  alarmed,  for 
it  seemed  incredible  that  a  woman  so  conspicuous  and  so 
well  known  as  the  Countess  of  Terranova  should  be  so 
hard  to  find  unless  she  had  taken  unusual  pains  to  hide 
her  identity.  If  such  were  the  case  the  search  promised 
many  difficulties.  Nevertheless,  he  set  about  it  energeti 
cally,  sparing  no  expense  and  yet  preserving  a  certain 
caution  in  order  not  to  embarrass  the  Countess.  He  rea 
soned  that  if  Cardi  and  Narcone  had  fled  their  own  island 
they  would  be  unlikely  to  seek  an  utterly  foreign  land,  but 
would  probably  go  where  their  own  tongue  was  spoken; 
hence  the  Countess  was  doubtless  in  one  of  the  Italian 
cities.  When  several  weeks  had  been  spent  without 
result  the  young  man  widened  the  scope  of  his  efforts 
and  appealed  to  the  police  of  all  the  principal  cities  of 
southern  Europe. 

Two  months  had  crept  by  before  word  came  from 
Colonel  Neri  which  put  an  end  to  his  futile  campaign. 
The  bank,  it  seemed,  had  received  a  letter  from  the 
Countess  written  in  New  York.  It  was  merely  a  request 
to  perform  certain  duties  and  contained  no  return  address, 
but  it  sent  Norvin  Blake  homeward  on  the  first  ship.  Now 
that  he  knew  that  the  girl  was  in  his  own  country  he  felt 
his  hopes  revive.  It  seemed  very  natural,  after  all,  that  she 
should  be  there  instead  of  in  Europe,  for  Cardi  and  his 
lieutenant,  having  found  Sicily  too  hot  to  hold  them,  had 
doubtless  joined  the  tide  of  Italian  emigration  to  America, 
that  land  of  freedom  and  riches  whither  all  the  scum  of 


THE    NET 

Europe  was  floating.  Why  should  they  turn  to  Italy, 
the  mother  country,  when  the  criminals  of  Europe  were 
flocking  across  the  westward  ocean  to  a  richer  field  which 
offered  little  chance  of  identification?  It  seemed  certain 
now  that  Margherita  had  taken  up  the  work  in  earnest; 
nothing  less  would  have  drawn  her  to  the  United  States. 
Blake  gave  up  his  last  lingering  doubt  regarding  her  in 
tentions,  but  he  vowed  that  if  her  resolve  were  firm,  his 
should  be  firmer;  if  her  life  held  nothing  but  thoughts  of 
Martel,  his  held  nothing  but  thoughts  of  her;  if  she  were 
determined  to  hide  herself,  he  was  equally  determined  to 
find  her,  and  he  would  keep  searching  until  he  had  done 
so.  The  hunt  began  to  obsess  him;  he  obeyed  but  one 
idea,  beheld  but  one  image;  and  he  cherished  the  illusion 
that  once  he  had  overtaken  her  his  task  would  be  com 
pleted.  Only  upon  rare  occasions  did  he  realize  that  the 
girl  was  still  unwon — perhaps  beyond  his  power  to  win. 
He  chose  to  trust  his  heart  rather  than  his  reason,  and  in 
truth  something  deep  within  him  gave  assurance  that  she 
was  waiting,  that  she  needed  him  and  would  welcome  his 
coming. 


VIII 

OLD   TRAILS 

MR.  BERNARD  DREUX  was  regarded  by  his  friends  rather 
as  an  institution  than  as  an  individual.  He  was  a  small 
man,  but  he  wore  the  dignity  of  a  senator,  and  he  pos 
sessed  a  pride  of  that  intense  and  fastidious  sort  which  is 
rarely  encountered  outside  the  oldest  Southern  families. 
He  was  thin,  with  the  delicate,  bird-like  mannerisms  of  a 
dyspeptic,  and  although  he  was  nearing  fifty  he  cultivated 
all  the  airs  and  graces  of  beardless  youth.  His  feet  were 
small  and  highly  arched,  his  hands  were  sensitive  and  color 
less  .  He  was  an  authority  on  art,  he  dabbled  in  music,  and 
he  had  once  been  a  lavish  entertainer — that  was  in  the  early 
days  when  he  had  been  a  social  leader.  Now,  although 
harassed  by  a  lack  of  money  which  he  considered  de 
grading,  he  still  mingled  in  good  society,  he  still  dressed 
elegantly,  his  hands  were  still  white  and  sensitive,  con 
trasting  a  little  with  his  conscience,  which  had  become 
slightly  discolored  and  calloused.  He  no  longer  enter 
tained,  however,  except  by  his  wit ;  he  exercised  a  watchful 
solicitude  over  his  slender  wardrobe,  and  his  revenues 
were  derived  from  sources  so  uncertain  that  he  seemed  to 
maintain  his  outwardly  placid  existence  only  through  a 
series  of  lucky  chances.  But  adversity  had  not  soured 
Mr.  Dreux ;  it  had  not  dimmed  his  pride  nor  coarsened  his 
appreciation  of  beauty;  he  remained  the  gentle,  suave,  and 
agreeably  cynical  beau.  Young  girls  had  been  known  to 
rave  over  him,  despite  their  mother's  frowns;  fathers  and 
brothers  called  him  Bernie  and  greeted  him  warmly — at 
their  clubs. 

93 


THE    NET 

But  aside  from  Mr.  Dreux's  inherited  right  to  social 
recognition  he  was  marked  by  another  and  peculiar  dis 
tinction  in  that  he  was  the  half-brother  and  guardian  of 
Myra  Nell  Warren.  This  fact  alone  would  have  assured 
him  a  wide  acquaintance  and  a  degree  of  popularity  without 
regard  to  his  personal  characteristics. 

While  it  was  generally  known  that  old  Captain  Warren, 
during  a  short  and  riotous  life,  had  dashed  through  the 
Dreux  fortune  at  a  tremendous  rate,  very  few  people 
realized  what  an  utter  financial  wreck  he  had  left  for  the 
two  children.  There  had  been  barely  enough  for  them 
to  live  upon  after  his  death,  and  inasmuch  as  Myra  Nell's 
extravagance  steadily  increased  as  the  income  diminished, 
her  half-brother  was  always  hard  pressed  to  keep  up 
appearances.  She  was  a  great  responsibility  upon  the 
little  man's  shoulders,  particularly  since  she  managed 
in  all  innocence  and  thoughtlessness  to  spend  not  only 
her  own  share  of  the  income,  but  his  also.  He  was  many 
times  upon  the  point  of  remonstrating  with  her,  but  in 
variably  his  courage  failed  him  and  he  ended  by  planning 
some  additional  self-sacrifice  to  offset  her  expanding 
necessities. 

The  situation  would  have  been  far  simpler  had  Bernie 
lacked  that  particular  inborn  pride  which  forbade  him  to 
seek  employment.  Not  that  he  felt  himself  above  work, 
but  he  recoiled  from  any  occupation  which  did  not  carry 
with  it  a  dignity  matching  that  of  his  name.  Since  the 
name  he  bore  was  as  highly  honored  as  any  in  the  State, 
and  since  his  capabilities  for  earning  a  living  were  not 
greater  than  those  of  an  eighteen-year-old  boy,  he  was 
obliged  to  rely  upon  his  wits.  And  his  wits  had  become 
uncommonly  keen. 

The  winter  climate  of  New  Orleans  drew  thither  a 
stream  of  Northern  tourists,  and  upon  these  strangers 
Mr.  Dreux,  in  a  gentlemanly  manner,  exercised  his 
versatile  talents.  He  made  friends  easily,  he  knew  every- 

94 


OLD    TRAILS 

body  and  everything,  and,  being  a  man  of  leisure,  his  time 
was  at  the  command  of  those  travelers  who  were  fortunate 
enough  to  meet  him.  He  understood  the  good  points  of  f 
each  and  every  little  cafe  in  the  foreign  quarters ;  he  could 
order  a  dinner  with  the  rarest  taste ;  it  was  due  largely  to 
him  that  the  fame  of  the  Ramos  gin-fizz  and  the  Sazerac 
cocktail  became  national.  His  grandfather,  General 
Dreux,  had  drunk  at  the  old  Absinthe  House  with  no 
less  a  person  that  Lafitte,  the  pirate,  and  had  frequented 
the  house  on  Royal  Street  when  Lafayette  and  Marechal 
Ney  were  there.  It  was  in  this  house,  indeed,  that  he  had 
met  Louis  Philippe.  His  grandson  had  such  a  wealth  of 
intimate  detail  at  his  finger  tips  that  it  was  a  great  pleasure 
and  privilege  to  go  through  the  French  quarter  with  him. 
He  exhaled  the  atmosphere  of  Southern  aristocracy  which 
is  so  agreeable  to  Northern  sensibilities,  he  told  inimitable 
stories,  and,  as  for  antiques,  he  knew  every  shop  and 
bargain  in  the  city.  He  was  liberal,  moreover,  nay, 
ingenuous  in  sharing  this  knowledge  with  his  new-found 
friends,  even  while  admitting  that  he  coveted  certain  of 
these  bargains  for  his  own  slender  collection.  As  a  result 
of  Mr.  Dreux 's  knack  of  making  friends  and  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  art  he  did  a  very  good  business  in  antiques. 
Many  of  his  acquaintances  wrote  him  from  time  to  time, 
asking  him  to  execute  commissions,  which  he  was  ever 
willing  to  do,  gratuitously,  of  course.  In  this  way  he  was 
able  to  bridge  over  the  dull  summer  season  and  live  with 
out  any  unpleasant  sacrifice  of  dignity.  But  it  was  at 
best  a  precarious  means  of  livelihood  and  one  which  he 
privately  detested.  However,  on  the  particular  day  in 
the  summer  of  1890  on  which  we  first  encounter  him  Mr. 
Dreux  was  well  contented,  for  a  lumber-man  from  Minne 
apolis,  who  had  come  South  with  no  appreciation  what 
ever  of  Colonial  antiques,  had  just  departed  with  enough 
worm-eaten  furniture  to  stock  a  museum,  and  Bernie  had 
collected  his  regular  commission  from  the  dealer. 

95 


THE    NET 

Now  that  his  own  pressing  necessities  were  taken  care 
of  for  the  moment,  he  began,  as  usual,  to  plan  for  Myra 
Nell's  future.  This  would  have  required  little  thought  or 
worry  had  she  been  an  ordinary  girl,  but  that  was  pre 
cisely  what  Miss  Warren  was  not.  The  beaux  of  New 
Orleans  were  enthusiastically  united  in  declaring  that 
she  was  quite  the  contrary,  quite  the  most  extraordinary 
and  dazzling  of  creatures.  Bernie  had  led  them  to  the 
slaughter  methodically,  one  after  another,  with  hope 
flaming  in  his  breast,  only  to  be  disappointed  time  after 
time.  They  had  merely  served  to  increase  the  unhappy 
number  which  vainly  swarmed  about  her,  and  to  make 
Bernie  himself  the  target  of  her  satire.  Popularity  had 
not  spoiled  the  girl,  however;  her  attitude  toward  marriage 
was  very  sensible  beneath  the  surface,  and  Bernie's  anxious 
efforts  at  matchmaking,  instead  of  relieving  their  financial 
distress,  merely  served  to  keep  him  in  the  antique  business. 
Miss  Warren  loved  admiration;  she  might  be  said  to  live 
on  it ;  and  she  greeted  every  new  admirer  with  a  bubbling 
gladness  which  was  intoxicating.  But  she  had  no  appreci 
ation  of  the  sanctity  of  a  promise.  She  looked  upon  an 
engagement  to  marry  in  the  same  light  as  an  engagement 
to  walk  or  dine,  namely,  as  being  subject  to  the  weather  or 
to  a  prior  obligation  of  the  same  sort.  Bernie  was  too 
much  a  gentleman  to  urge  her  into  any  step  for  which 
she  was  not  ready,  so  he  merely  sighed  when  he  saw  his 
plans  go  astray,  albeit  confessing  to  moments  of  dismay 
as  he  foresaw  himself  growing  old  in  the  second-hand 
business.  But  a  change  had  occurred  lately,  and  al 
though  no  word  had  passed  between  brother  and  sister,  the 
melancholy  little  bachelor  had  been  highly  gratified  at 
certain  indications  he  had  marked.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  her  choice,  provided  she  really  had  chosen,  was 
excellent;  for  Norvin  Blake  was  certainly  very  young  to 
be  the  president  of  the  Cotton  Exchange,  he  was  free 
from  any  social  entanglements,  and  he  was  rich.  More- 

96 


OLD    TRAILS 

over,  his  name  had  as  many  honorable  associations  as  even 
Bernie's  own.  All  in  all,  therefore,  the  little  man  was  in 
an  agreeable  frame  of  mind  to-day  as  he  strolled  up  Canal 
Street,  nodding  here  and  there  to  his  acquaintances,  and 
turned  into  Blake's  office. 

He  entered  without  announcing  himself,  and  Norvin 
greeted  him  cordially.  Bernie  seldom  announced  him 
self,  being  one  of  those  rare  persons  who  come  and  go 
unobtrusively  and  who  interrupt  important  conversa 
tions  without  offense. 

"Do  I  find  you  busy?"  he  inquired,  dropping  into  one 
of  Blake's  easy-chairs  and  lighting  a  perfumed  cigarette. 

"No.  Business  is  over  for  the  day.  But  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  at  any  time;  you're  so  refreshingly  restful." 

"How  are  the  new  duties  and  responsibilities  coming 
on?" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Blake,  "Although  I'm  absurdly 
self-conscious." 

"The  Exchange  needed  new  blood,  I'm  told.  I  think 
you  are  a  happy  choice.  Opportunity  has  singled  you 
out  and  evidently  intends  to  bear  you  forward  on  her 
shoulders  whether  you  wish  or  not.  Jove!  you  have 
made  strides!  Let  me  see,  you  are  thirty— 

' '  Two !  This  makes  me  look  older  than  I  am. ' '  Norvin 
touched  his  hair,  which  was  gray,  and  Bernie  nodded. 

"Funny  how  your  hair  changed  so  suddenly.  I  remem 
ber  seeing  you  four  years  ago  at  the  Lexington  races  just 
after  you  returned  from  Europe  the  second  time.  You 
were  dark  then.  I  saw  you  a  year  later  and  you  were 
gray.  Did  the  wing  of  sorrow  brush  your  brow?" 

Blake  shrugged.     "They  say  fear  will  turn  men  gray." 

Dreux  laughed  lightly.     "Fancy!     You  afraid!" 

"And  why  not?    Have  you  never  been  afraid?" 

"  I  ?  To  be  sure.  I  rather  like  it,  too !  It's  invigorating 
— unusual.  You  know  there's  a  kind  of  fascination 
about  certain  emotions  which  are  in  themselves  un- 
7  97 


THE    NET 

pleasant.  But — my  dear  boy,  you  can't  understand.  We 
were  talking  about  you  the  other  night  at  the  Boston  Club 
after  your  election,  and  Thompson  told  about  that  affair 
you  had  with  those  niggers  up  the  State,  when  you  were 
sheriff.  It  was  quite  thrilling  to  hear  him  tell  it." 

"Indeed?" 

"Oh,  yes!  He  made  you  out  a  great  hero.  I  never 
knew  why  you  went  in  for  politics,  or  at  least  why,  if  you 
went  in  at  all,  you  didn't  try  for  something  worth  while. 
You  could  have  gone  to  the  legislature  just  as  easily.  But 
for  a  Blake  to  be  sheriff!  Well,  it  knocked  us  all  silly 
when  we  heard  of  it,  and  I  don't  understand  it  yet.  We 
pictured  you  locking  up  drunken  men,  serving  subpoenas, 
and  selling  widows'  farms  over  their  heads." 

"There's  really  more  to  a  sheriff's  duties  than  that." 

"So  I  judged  from  Thompson's  blood-curdling  tales. 
I  felt  very  anaemic  and  insignificant  as  I  listened  to  him." 

"  It  doesn't  hurt  a  gentleman  to  hold  a  minor  political 
office,  even  in  a  tough  parish.  I  think  men  ought  to  try 
themselves  out  and  find  what  they  are  made  of." 

"It  isn't  your  lack  of  exclusiveness  that  strikes  one;  it's 
your  nerve." 

"Oh,  that's  mostly  imaginary.  I  haven't  much,  really. 
But  the  truth  is  I'm  interested  in  courage.  They  say  a 
man  always  admires  the  quality  in  which  he  is  naturally 
lacking,  and  wants  to  acquire  it.  I'm  interested  in  brave 
men,  too;  they  fascinate  me.  I've  studied  them;  I've 
tried  to  analyze  courage  and  find  out  what  it  is,  where  it 
lies,  how  it  is  developed,  and  all  about  it,  because  I  have, 
perhaps,  a  rather  foolish  craving  to  be  able  to  call  myself 
fairly  brave." 

"If  you  hadn't  made  a  reputation  for  yourself,  this  sort 
of  modesty  would  convict  you  of  cowardice,"  Dreux  ex 
claimed.  "  It  sounds  very  funny,  coming  from  you,  and  I 
think  you  are  posing.  Now  with  me  it  is  wholly  different. 
I  couldn't  stand  what  you  have;  why,  the  sight  of  a  dead 

98 


OLD    TRAILS 

man  would  unsettle  me  for  months  and,  as  for  risking 
my  life  or  attempting  the  life  of  a  fellow  creature — well, 
it  would  be  a  physical  impossibility.  I — I'd  just  turn  tail. 
You  are  exceptional,  though  you  may  not  know  it;  you're 
not  normal.  The  majority  of  us,  away  back  in  the  wood 
sheds  of  our  minds,  recognize  ourselves  as  cowards,  and 
I  differ  from  the  rest  in  that  I'm  brave  enough  to  admit 
it." 

"How  do  you  know  you  are  a  coward?" 

"  Oh,  any  little  thing  upsets  me." 

"Your  people  were  brave  enough." 

"Of  course,  but  conditions  were  different  in  those  days; 
we're  more  advanced  now.  There's  nothing  refined  about 
swinging  sabers  around  your  head  like  a  windmill  and 
chopping  off  Yankee  arms  and  legs;  nor  is  there  anything 
especially  artistic  in  two  gentlemen  meeting  at  dawn  under 
the  oaks  with  shotguns  loaded  with  scrap  iron."  Mr. 
Dreux  shuddered.  "I'm  tremendously  glad  the  war  is 
over  and  duels  are  out  of  fashion." 

"Well,  be  thankful  that  antiques  are  not  out  of  fashion. 
There  is  still  a  profit  in  them,  I  suppose?" 

Dreux  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "Not  in  the  good 
stuff.  I  just  sold  the  original  sword  of  Jean  Lafitte  to 
a  man  who  makes  preserved  tomatoes.  It  is  the  eighth 
in  three  weeks.  The  business  in  Lafitte  sabers  is  very  fair 
lately.  General  Jackson  belt-buckles  are  moving  well, 
too,  not  to  mention  plug  hats  worn  by  Jefferson  Davis  at 
his  inauguration.  There  was  a  fabulous  hardwood  king 
at  the  St.  Charles  whom  I  inflamed  with  the  beauties  of 
marquetrie  du  bois.  It  was  all  modern,  of  course,  made  in 
Baltimore,  but  I  found  him  a  genuine  Sinurette  four-poster 
which  was  very  fine.  I  also  discovered  a  royal  Sevres 
vase  for  him,  worth  a  small  fortune,  but  he  preferred  a 
bath  sponge  used  by  Louis  XIV.  I  assured  him  the 
sponge  was  genuine,  so  he  bought  a  Buhl  cabinet  to  put  it 
in.  I  took  the  vase  for  Myra  Nell," 

99 


THE   NET 

"Do  you  think  Myra  Nell  would  care  to  be  Queen  of 
the  Carnival?"  Norvin  inquired. 

"Care?"  Bernie  started  forward  in  his  chair,  his  eyes 
opened  wide.  "You're— joking!  Is — is  there  any — " 
He  relaxed  suddenly,  and  after  an  instant's  hesitation 
inquired,  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say.     She  can  be  Queen  if  she  wishes." 

Dreux  shook  his  head  reluctantly.  "  She'd  be  delighted, 
of  course;  she'd  go  mad  at  the  prospect,  but — frankly,  she 
can't  afford  it."  He  flushed  under  Blake's  gaze. 

"I'm  sorry,  Bernie.     I've  been  told  to  ask  her." 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  honor,  and  it's 
worth  any  sacrifice,  but — Lord!  It  is  disgusting  to  be 
poor."  He  prodded  viciously  with  his  cane. 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  for  any  girl  to  be  Queen.  The  chance 
may  not  come  again." 

Dreux  made  a  creditable  effort  to  conceal  his  disap 
pointment,  but  he  was  really  beside  himself  with  chagrin. 
"You  needn't  tell  me,"  he  said,  "but  there  is  no  use  of 
my  even  dreaming  of  it;  I've  figured  over  the  expense 
too  often.  She  was  Queen  of  Momus  last  year — that's 
why  I've  had  to  vouch  for  so  many  Lafitte  swords  and 
Davis  high  hats.  If  those  tourists  ever  compare  notes 
they'll  think  that  old  pirate  must  have  been  a  centipede 
or  a  devilfish  to  wield  all  those  weapons." 

"I  would  like  to  have  her  accept,"  Blake  persisted. 

Bernie  Dreux  glanced  at  the  speaker  quickly,  feeling  a 
warm  glow  suffuse  his  withered  body  at  the  hint  of  en 
couragement  for  his  private  hopes.  What  more  natural, 
he  reasoned,  than  for  Blake  to  wish  his  future  wife  to  ac 
cept  the  highest  social  honor  that  New  Orleans  can  confer  ? 
Norvin's  next  words  offered  further  encouragement,  yet 
awoke  a  very  conflicting  emotion. 

"In  view  of  the  circumstances,  and  in  view  of  all  it 
means  to  Myra  Nell,  I  would  consider  it  a  privilege  to  lend 
you  whatever  you  require.  She  need  never  know." 

100 


OLD    TRAILS 

Involuntarily  the  little  bachelor  flushed  and  drew 
himself  up. 

"Thanks!  It's  very  considerate  of  you,  but — I  can't 
accept,  really." 

"Even  for  her  sake?" 

"If  I  didn't  know  you  so  well,  or  perhaps  if  you  didn't 
know  us  so  well,  I'd  resent  such  a  proposal." 

"Nonsense!  Don't  be  foolish."  Realizing  thoroughly 
what  this  sacrifice  meant  to  Miss  Warren's  half-brother, 
Norvin  continued:  "Suppose  we  say  nothing  further 
about  it  for  the  time  being.  Perhaps  you  will  feel 
differently  later." 

After  a  pause  Dreux  said:  "Heaven  knows  where 
these  carnivals  will  end  if  we  continue  giving  bigger 
pageants  every  year.  It's  a  frightful  drain  on  the  antique 
business,  and  I'm  afraid  I  will  have  to  drop  out  next 
season.  I  scarcely  know  what  to  do." 

"Why  don't  you  marry?"  Blake  inquired. 

"Marry?"  Dreux  smiled  whimsically.  "That  lumber 
king  had  a  daughter,  but  she  was  freckled." 

"Felicite"  Delord  isn't  freckled." 

Bernie  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  and  then  inquired 
quietly : 

"What  do  you  know  about  Felicite?" 

"All  there  is  to  know,  I  believe.  Enough,  at  any  rate, 
to  realize  that  you  ought  to  marry  her." 

As  Dreux  made  no  answer,  he  inquired,  "She  is  willing, 
of  course?" 

"Of  course." 

"Then  why  don't  you  do  it?" 

"The  very  fact  that  people — well,  that  I  know  I  ought 
to,  perhaps.  Then,  too,  my  situation.  I  have  certain 
obligations  which  I  must  live  up  to." 

"Don't  be  forever  thinking  of  yourself.  There  are 
others  to  be  considered." 

"Exactly.     Myra  Nell,  for  instance." 

101 


THE    NET 

"It  seems  to  me  you  owe  something  to  FeliciteV' 

"My  dear  boy,  you  don't  talk  like  a — like  a — 

"Southern  gentleman?"  Blake  smiled.  "Nevertheless, 
Miss  Delord  is  a  delightful  little  person  and  you  can  make 
her  happy.  If  Myra  Nell  should  be  Queen  of  the  Mardi 
Gras  it  would  round  out  her  social  career.  She  will 
marry  before  long,  no  doubt,  and  then  you  will  be  left  with 
no  obligations  beyond  those  you  choose  to  assume.  No 
body  knows  of  your  relations  with  FeliciteV' 

''You  know,"  said  the  bachelor  stiffly,  "and  therefore 
others  must  know,  hence  it  is  quite  impossible.  I'd  prefer 
not  to  discuss  it  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Certainly.  I  want  you  to  keep  that  loan  in  mind, 
however.  I  think  you  owe  it  to  your  sister  to  accept. 
At  any  rate,  I  am  glad  we  had  this  opportunity  of  speaking 
frankly." 

"Ah,"  said  Bernie,  suddenly,  as  if  seizing  with  relief 
upon  a  chance  to  end  the  discussion,  "I  think  I  heard  some 
one  in  the  outer  office." 

"To  be  sure,"  exclaimed  Blake.  "That  must  be 
Donnelly.  I  had  an  appointment  with  him  here  which 
I'd  forgotten  all  about." 

"The  Chief  of  Police?     He's  quite  a  friend  of  yours." 

"Yes,  we  met  while  I  was  sheriff.  He's  a  remarkably 
able  officer — one  of  those  men  I  like  to  study. ' ' 

"Well,  then,  I'll  be  going,"  said  Bernie,  rising. 

"No,  stay  and  meet  him."  Blake  rose  to  greet  a  tall, 
angular  man  of  about  Dreux's  age,  who  came  in  without 
knocking.  Chief  Donnelly  had  an  impassive  face,  into 
which  was  set  a  pair  of  those  peculiar  smoky-blue  eyes 
which  have  become  familiar  upon  our  frontiers.  He 
acknowledged  his  introduction  to  Bernie  quietly,  and 
measured  the  little  man  curiously. 

"Mr.  Dreux  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  he  was  anxious  to 
meet  you,  so  I  asked  him  to  stay,"  Norvin  explained. 

"If  I'm  not  intruding,"  Bernie  said. 

102 


OLD   TRAILS 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  much  on  my  mind,"  the  Chief  de 
clared.  "I've  come  in  for  some  information  which  I  don't 
believe  Blake  can  give  me."  To  Norvin  he  said,  "I 
remembered  hearing  that  you'd  been  to  Italy,  so  I  thought 
you  might  help  me  out." 

Mr.  Dreux  sat  back,  eliminated  himself  from  the  con 
versation  in  his  own  effective  manner,  and  regarded  the 
officer  as  a  mouse  might  gaze  upon  a  lion. 

"Yes,  but  that  was  four  years  ago, "Norvin  replied. 

"All  the  better.     Were  you  ever  in  Sicily?" 

Blake  started.  The  sudden  mention  of  Sicily  was  like 
a  touch  upon  an  exposed  nerve. 

"I  was  in  Sicily  twice,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"Then  perhaps  you  can  help  me,  after  all.  I  recalled 
some  sort  of  experience  you  had  over  there  with  the  Mafia, 
and  took  a  chance." 

The  Chief  drew  from  his  pocket  a  note-book  which  he 
consulted.  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Sicilian  named — • 
Narcone  ?  Gian  Narcone  ?' '  He  looked  up  to  see  that  his 
friend's  face  had  gone  colorless. 

Blake  nodded  silently. 

"Also  a  chap  named — some  nobleman —  '  He  turned 
again  to  his  memorandum-book. 

"Martel  Savigno,  Count  of  Martinello,"  Norvin  sup 
plied  in  a  strained,  breathless  voice. 

"That's  him!  Why,  you  must  know  all  about  this 
affair." 

Blake  rose  and  began  to  pace  his  office  while  the  others 
watched  him  curiously,  amazed  at  his  agitated  manner 
and  his  evident  effort  to  control  his  features.  Neither  of 
his  two  friends  had  deemed  him  capable  of  such  an  ex 
hibition  of  feeling. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Norvin  had  grown  to  pride  himself 
upon  his  physical  self  -  command  and  above  all  upon  his 
impassivity  of  countenance.  He  had  cultivated  it  pur 
posely,  for  it  formed  a  part  of  his  later  training — what  he 

103 


THE   NET 

chose  to  call  his  course  in  courage.  But  this  sudden 
probing  of  an  old  wound,  this  unexpected  reference  to  the 
most  painful  part  of  his  life,  had  found  him  off  his  guard 
and  with  his  nerves  loose. 

After  his  return  from  Europe  he  had  set  himself  vigor 
ously  to  the  task  of  uprooting  his  cowardice.  Realizing 
that  his  parish  had  always  been  lawless,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  the  office  of  sheriff  would  compel  an  exercise  of 
whatever  courage  he  had  in  him.  It  had  been  absurdly 
easy  to  win  the  election,  but  afterward — the  memory  of 
the  bitter  fight  which  followed  often  made  him  cringe. 
Strangely  enough,  his  theory  had  not  worked  out.  He 
found  that  his  cowardice  was  not  a  sick  spot  which  could  be 
cauterized  or  cut  out,  but  rather  that  it  was  like  some 
humor  of  the  blood,  or  something  ingrained  in  the  very 
structure  of  his  nervous  tissue.  But  although  his  lack  of 
physical  courage  seemed  constitutional  and  incurable, 
he  had  a  great  and  splendid  pride  which  enabled  him 
to  conceal  his  weakness  from  the  world.  Time  and  again 
he  had  balked,  had  shied  like  a  frightened  horse;  time  and 
again  he  had  roweled  himself  with  cruel  spurs  and  ridden 
down  his  unruly  terrors  by  force  of  will.  But  the  struggle 
had  burned  him  out,  had  calcined  his  youth,  had  grayed 
his  hair,  and  left  him  old  and  tired.  Even  now,  when  he 
had  begun  to  consider  his  self-mastery  complete,  it  had 
required  no  more  than  the  unexpected  mention  of  Martel 
Savigno's  name  and  that  of  his  murderer  to  awaken  pangs 
of  poignant  distress,  the  signs  of  which  he  could  not  al 
together  conceal. 

When  after  an  interval  of  several  minutes  he  felt  that 
he  had  himself  sufficiently  in  hand  to  talk  without  danger 
of  self -betrayal,  he  seated  himself  and  inquired: 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know  about — the  Count  of 
Martinello  and  Narcone  the  bandit?" 

"I  want  to  know  all  there  is,"  said  Donnelly.  "Per 
haps  we  can  get  at  it  quicker  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you 

104 


OLD    TRAILS 

know.     I  had  no  idea  you  were  familiar  with  the  case. 
It's  remarkable  how  these  old  trails  recross." 

"I — I  know  everything  about  the  murder  of  Martel 
Savigno,  for  I  saw  it.  I  was  there.  He  was  my  best 
friend.  That  is  the  story  of  which  you  read.  That  is 
why  the  mention  of  his  name  upset  me,  even  after  nearly 
five  years." 

Bernie  Dreux  uttered  an  exclamation  and  hitched  for 
ward  in  his  chair.  This  new  side  of  Blake's  character 
fascinated  him. 

"If  you  will  tell  me  the  circumstances  it  will  help  me 
piece  out  my  record,"  said  the  Chief,  so  Blake  began  re 
luctantly,  hesitatingly,  giving  the  facts  clearly,  but  with 
a  constraint  that  bore  witness  to  his  pain  in  the  recital. 

When  he  had  finished,  it  was  Donnelly's  turn  to  show 
surprise. 

"That  is  remarkable!"  he  exclaimed.  "To  think  that 
you  have  seen  Gian  Narcone!  D'you  suppose  you  would 
know  him  again  after  four  years?"  He  shot  a  keen 
glance  at  his  friend. 

"I  am  quite  sure  I  would.  But  come,  you  haven't 
told  me  anything  yet." 

"Well,  Narcone  is  in  New  Orleans." 

"What?"  Blake  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  his  eyes 
blazing. 

"At  least  I'm  informed  that  he  is.  I  received  a  letter 
some  time  ago  containing  most  of  the  information  you've 
just  given  me,  and  stating  that  there  are  extradition  papers 
for  him  in  New  York.  The  letter  says  that  some  of  his 
old  gang  have  confessed  to  their  part  in  the  murder  and 
have  implicated  Narcone  so  strongly  that  he  will  hang 
if  they  can  get  him  back  to  Sicily." 

"I  believe  that.     But  who  is  your  informant?" 

"I  don't  know.     The  letter  is  anonymous." 

A  sudden  wild  hope  sprang  up  in  Blake's  mind.  He 
dared  not  trust  it,  yet  it  clamored  for  credence. 

105 


THE    NET 

"Was  it  written  by  a — woman?"  he  queried,  tensely. 

"No;  at  least  I  don't  think  so.  It  was  written  on  one 
of  these  new-fangled  typewriting  machines.  I  left  it  at 
the  office,  or  you  could  judge  for  yourself." 

"If  it  is  typewritten,  how  do  you  know  whether — 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  know.  But  I  can  guess  pretty 
closely.  It  was  one  of  the  Pallozzo  gang.  This  Narcone 
— he  calls  himself  Vito  Sabella,  by  the  way — is  a  leader  of 
the  Quatrones.  The  two  factions  have  been  at  war  lately 
and  some  member  of  the  Pallozzo  outfit  has  turned  him 
up." 

The  light  died  out  of  Norvin's  face,  his  body  relaxed. 
He  had  followed  so  many  clues,  his  quest  had  been  so  long 
and  fruitless,  that  he  met  disappointment  half-way. 

Up  to  this  moment  Bernie  Dreux  had  listened  without 
a  word  or  movement,  but  now  he  stirred  and  inquired, 
hesitatingly : 

"Pardon  me,  but  what  is  this  Pallozzo  gang  and  who 
are  the  Quatrones?  I'm  tremendously  interested  in  this 
affair." 

"The  Pallozzos  and  the  Quatrones,"  Donnelly  explained, 
"are  two  Italian  gangs  which  have  come  into  rivalry  over 
the  fruit  business.  They  unload  the  ships,  you  know, 
and  they  have  clashed  several  times.  You  probably 
heard  about  their  last  mix-up — one  man  killed  and  four 
wounded." 

"  I  never  read  about  such  things,"  Dreux  acknowledged, 
at  which  the  Chief's  eyes  twinkled  and  once  more  wandered 
over  the  little  man's  immaculate  figure. 

"You  are  familiar  with  our  Italian  problem,  aren't 
you?" 

"I — I'm  afraid  not.  I  know  we  have  a  large  foreign 
population  in  the  city — in  fact,  I  spend  much  of  my  time 
on  the  other  side  of  Canal  Street — but  I  didn't  know  there 
was  any  particular  problem." 

"Well,  there  is,  and  a  very  serious  one,  too,"  Blake 

106 


OLD    TRAILS 

assured  him.  "It's  giving  our  friend  Donnelly  and  the 
rest  of  the  city  officials  trouble  enough  and  to  spare. 
There  have  been  some  eighty  killings  in  the  Italian 
quarter." 

"Eighty-four,"  said  Donnelly.  "And  about  two  hun 
dred  outrages  of  one  sort  or  another." 

"And  almost  no  convictions.     Am  I  right?" 

"You  are.  We  can't  do  a  thing  with  them.  They  are 
a  law  to  themselves,  and  they  ignore  us  and  ours  abso 
lutely.  It's  getting  worse,  too.  Fine  situation  to  exist 
in  the  midst  of  a  law-abiding  American  community,  isn't 
it?"  Donnelly  appealed  to  Dreux. 

"Now  that  will  show  you  how  little  a  person  may  know 
of  his  own  home,"  reflected  Bernie.  "Has  it  anything 
to  do  with  this  Mafia  we  hear  so  much  about?" 

"It  has.  But  the  Mafia  is  going  to  end,"  Donnelly 
announced  positively.  "I've  gone  on  record  to  that  effect. 
If  those  dagos  can't  obey  our  laws,  they'll  have  to  pull 
their  freight.  It's  up  to  me  to  put  a  finish  to  this  state 
of  affairs  or  acknowledge  I'm  a  poor  official  and  don't 
know  my  business.  The  reform  crowd  has  seized  upon  it 
as  a  weapon  to  put  me  out  of  office,  claiming  that  I've 
sold  out  to  the  Italians  and  don't  want  to  run  'em  down, 
so  I've  got  to  do  something  to  show  I'm  not  asleep  on  my 
beat.  I've  never  had  a  chance  before,  but  now  I'm  going 
after  this  Vito  Sabella  and  land  him.  Will  you  look  him 
over,  Norvin,  and  see  if  he's  the  right  party?" 

"Of  course.  I  owe  Narcone  a  visit  and  I'm  glad  of 
this  chance.  But  granting  that  he  is  Narcone,  how  can 
you  get  him  out  of  New  Orleans?  He'll  fight  extradition 
and  the  Quatrones  will  support  him." 

"I'm  blamed  if  I  know.  I'll  have  to  figure  that  out," 
said  the  Chief  as  he  rose  to  go.  "I'm  mighty  glad  I  had 
that  hunch  to  come  and  see  you,  and  I  wish  you  were  a 
plain-clothes  man  instead  of  the  president  of  the  Cotton 
Exchange.  I  think  you  and  I  could  clean  out  this  Mafia 

107 


THE    NET 

and  make  the  town  fit  for  a  white  man  to  live  in.  If 
you'll  drop  in  on  me  at  eight  o'clock  to-night  we'll  walk 
over  toward  St.  Phillip  Street  and  perhaps  get  a  look 
at  your  old  friend  Narcone.  If  you  care  to  come  along, 
Mr.  Dreux,  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you." 

Bernie  Dreux  threw  up  his  shapely  hands  in  hasty  re 
fusal.  "Oh  dear,  no!"  he  protested.  "I  haven't  lost 
any  Italian  murderers.  This  expedition,  which  you're 
planning  so  lightly,  may  lead  to — Heaven  knows  what. 
At  any  rate,  I  should  only  be  in  the  way,  so  if  it's  quite  the 
same  to  you  I'll  send  regrets." 

"Quite  the  same,"  Donnelly  laughed,  then  to  Norvin: 
"If  you  think  this  dago  may  recognize  you,  you'd  better 
tote  a  gun.  At  eight,  then." 

"At  eight,"  agreed  Blake  and  escorted  him  to  the  door. 


IX 

"  ONE   WHO   KNOWS  " 

NORVIN  BLAKE  dined  at  his  club  that  evening,  re 
turning  to  his  office  at  about  half -past  seven.  He  was  re 
lieved  to  find  the  place  deserted,  for  he  desired  an  oppor 
tunity  to  think  undisturbed.  Although  this  unforeseen 
twist  of  events  had  seemed  remarkable,  at  first,  he  began 
to  feel  that  he  had  been  unconsciously  waiting  for  this 
very  hour.  Something  had  always  forewarned  him  that  a 
time  would  come  when  he  would  be  forced  to  take  a  hand 
once  more  in  that  old  affair.  Nor  was  he  so  much  dis 
turbed  by  the  knowledge  that  Narcone,  the  butcher,  was 
here  in  New  Orleans  as  by  the  memories  and  regrets  which 
the  news  aroused. 

Entering  his  private  office,  he  lit  the  gas,  and  flinging 
himself  into  an  easy-chair,  gave  himself  over  to  recollec 
tions  of  all  that  the  last  four  years  had  brought  forth. 
It  seemed  only  yesterday  that  he  had  returned  from  Italy, 
hot  upon  the  scent  which  Colonel  Neri  had  uncovered  for 
him.  He  had  been  confident,  eager,  hopeful,  yet  he  had 
failed,  signally,  unaccountably.  He  had  combed  New 
York  City  for  a  trace  of  Margherita  Ginini  with  a  thor 
oughness  that  left  no  possible  means  untried.  As  he 
looked  back  upon  it  now,  he  wondered  if  he  could  ever 
summon  sufficient  enthusiasm  to  attack  any  other  pro 
ject  with  a  similar  determination.  He  doubted  it.  Later 
experience  had  bred  in  him  a  peculiar  caution,  a  shrinking 
hesitancy  at  exposing  his  true  feelings,  due,  no  doubt,  to 
that  ever-present  necessity  of  watching  himself. 

109 


THE    NET 

Margherita  had  never  written  him  after  her  first  disap 
pearance;  his  own  letters  had  been  returned  from  Sicily; 
the  police  of  New  York  had  failed  as  those  of  Rome  and 
Naples  and  other  cities  had  failed.  He  had  wasted  a 
small  fortune  in  the  hire  of  private  detectives.  At  last, 
when  it  was  too  late  to  profit  him,  he  had  learned  that  the 
three  women  had  been  in  New  York  at  the  time  of  his 
arrival,  but  evidently  they  had  become  alarmed  at  his 
pursuit  and  fled.  It  was  this  which  had  forced  him  to 
give  up — the  certainty  that  Margherita  knew  the  motive 
of  his  search  and  resented  it.  He  had  never  quite  recov 
ered  from  the  sting  of  that  discovery,  for  he  was  proud, 
but  he  had  grown  too  wise  to  cherish  unjust  resentment. 
It  merely  struck  him  as  a  great  pity  that  their  lives  had 
fallen  out  in  such  unhappy  fashion.  He  never  tried  to 
deceive  himself  into  believing  that  he  could  forget  her, 
become  a  new  man,  and  banish  the  joy  and  the  pain  of  his 
past,  impartially.  There  were  other  women,  it  is  true, 
who  attracted  him  strongly,  aroused  his  tenderness  and 
appealed  to  his  manhood — and  among  them  Myra  Nell 
Warren.  His  power  of  feeling  had  not  been  atrophied, 
rather  it  had  become  deeper.  Yet  his  loyalty  was  never 
really  impaired.  In  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  knew  that 
that  tawny,  slumbrous  yet  passionate  Sicilian  girl  was  his 
first  and  his  most  sacred  love. 

As  he  sat  alone  now,  with  the  evidences  of  his  ac 
complishment  about  him,  he  realized  that  in  spite  of  his 
material  success,  life,  so  far,  at  least,  had  been  just  as 
stale  and  flat  as  it  had  promised  to  be  on  that  night  when 
he  and  Martel  had  ridden  away  from  the  feast  at  Terra- 
nova.  He  had  made  good,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  in  all 
respects  save  one,  and  even  in  that  he  had  gained  the  form 
if  not  the  substance,  for  the  world  regarded  him  as  a  man 
of  proven  courage.  It  seemed  to  him.  a  grim  and  hideous 
joke,  and  he  wondered  what  his  friends  would  think  if 
they  knew  that  the.  very  commonplace  adventure  planned 

no 


"ONE    WHO    KNOWS" 

for  this  evening  filled  him  with  a  cringing  horror.  The 
prospect  of  this  trip  into  the  Italian  quarter  with  the 
probability  of  encountering  Narcone  turned  him  cold  and 
sick.  His  hands  were  like  ice  and  the  muscles  of  his  back 
were  twitching  nervously;  he  could  feel  his  heart  pound 
as  he  let  his  thoughts  have  free  play.  But  these  symptoms 
were  only  too  familiar;  he  had  conquered  them  too  many 
times  to  think  of  weakening. 

After  five  years  of  intimate  self-study  he  was  still  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  his  phenomenal  cowardice.  He 
wondered  again  to-night  if  it  might  not  be  the  result 
of  a  too  powerful  imagination.  Donnelly  had  no  imagina 
tion  whatever,  and  the  same  seemed  true  of  others  whom 
he  had  studied.  As  for  himself,  his  fancies  took  alarm  at 
the  slightest  hint  and  went  careering  off  into  all  the  dark 
byways  of  supposition,  encountering  impossible  shapes 
and  improbable  dangers.  Whatever  the  cause,  he  had 
long  since  given  up  hope  of  ever  winning  a  permanent 
victory  over  himself  and  had  learned  that  each  trial  meant 
a  fresh  battle. 

When  he  saw  by  the  clock  that  the  hour  of  his  appoint 
ment  had  come,  he  arose,  although  his  body  seemed  to 
belong  to  some  one  else  and  his  spirit  was  crying  out  a 
mad,  panicky  warning.  He  opened  the  drawer  of  his 
desk  and,  extracting  a  revolver,  raised  it  at  arm's-length. 
He  drew  it  down  before  his  eye  until  the  sights  crept  into 
alignment,  and  held  it  there  for  a  throbbing  second. 
Then  he  smiled  mirthlessly,  for  his  hand  had  not  shown  the 
slightest  tremor. 

Donnelly  was  waiting  as  Blake  walked  into  head 
quarters,  and,  exhuming  a  box  of  cigars  from  the  remotest 
depths  of  a  desk  drawer,  he  offered  them,  saying: 

"I've  sent  O'Connell  over  to  reconnoiter.  There's  no 
use  of  our  starting  out  until  he  locates  Sabella.  You 
needn't  be  so  suspicious  of  those  perfectos ;  they  won't  bite 
you." 

in 


THE    NET 

"The  last  one  you  gave  me  did  precisely  that." 

"Must  have  been  one  of  my  cooking  cigars.  I  keep 
two  kinds,  one  for  callers  and  one  for  friends." 

"Then  if  this  is  a  Flor  de  Friendship  I'll  accept,"  Blake 
said  with  a  laugh. 

"I  see  Mr.  Dreux  didn't  change  his  mind  and  decide 
to  join  us." 

"No,  this  is  a  little  too  rough  for  Bernie.  He  very 
cheerfully  acknowledged  that  he  was  afraid  Narcone 
might  recognize  me  and  make  trouble." 

"I  thought  of  that,"  Donnelly  acknowledged.  "Is 
there  any  chance?" 

In  the  depths  of  Blake's  consciousness  something  cried 
out  fearfully  in  the  affirmative,  but  he  replied:  "Hardly. 
He  never  saw  me  except  indistinctly,  and  that  was  nearly 
five  years  ago.  He  might  recall  my  name,  but  I  dare  say 
not  without  an  introduction,  which  isn't  necessary." 

"Do  you  think  you  will  know  him?" 

"I — I  have  reason  to  think  I  will." 

The  Chief  grunted  with  satisfaction. 

"A  funny  little  fellow,  that  Dreux!"  he  remarked. 
"Wasn't  it  his  father  who  fought  a  duel  with  Colonel 
Hammond  from  Baton  Rouge?" 

"The  same.  They  used  shotguns  at  forty  yards. 
Colonel  Hammond  was  killed." 

"Humph!    And  he  was  afraid  to  go  with  us  to-night?" 

"Oh,  he  makes  no  secret  of  his  cowardice." 

"Well,  a  mule  is  a  mule,  a  coward  is  a  coward,  and 
a  gambler  is  a — son-of-a-gun, ' '  paraphrased  the  Chief.  "If 
he  hasn't  any  courage  he  can't  force  it  into  himself." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  know  so.  I've  seen  it  tried.  Some  people  are  born 
cowards  and  can't  help  themselves.  As  for  me,  I  was 
never  troubled  much  that  way.  I  suppose  you  find  it 
the  same,  too." 

"No.  My  only  consolation  lies  in  thinking  it's  barely 

112 


"ONE   WHO   KNOWS" 

possible  the  other  fellow  may  be  as  badly  frightened  as 
I  am." 

Donnelly  scoffed  openly.  "I  never  saw  a  man  stand 
up  better  than  you.  Why  I've  touted  you  as  the  gamest 
chap  I  ever  saw.  Do  you  remember  that  dago  Misetti 
who  jumped  from  here  into  your  parish  when  you  were 
sheriff?" 

Blake  smiled.     "I'm  not  likely  to  forget  him." 

"You  walked  into  a  gun  that  day  when  you  knew  he'd 
use  it." 

"He  didn't,  though — at  least  not  much.  Perhaps  he 
was  as  badly  rattled  as  I  was." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  the  Chief  said.  "But  that 
reminds  me,  he's  out  again." 

"Indeed!     I  hadn't  heard." 

"You  knew,  of  course,  we  couldn't  convict  him  for  that 
killing.  We  had  a  perfect  case,  but  the  Mafia  cleared 
him.  Same  old  story — perjury,  alibis,  and  jury-fixing. 
We  put  him  away  for  resisting  an  officer,  though;  they 
couldn't  stop  us  there.  But  they've  'sprung'  him  and 
he's  back  in  town  again.  Damn  such  people!  With 
over  two  hundred  Italian  outrages  of  various  kinds 
in  this  city  up  to  date,  I  can  count  the  convictions  on  the 
ringers  of  one  hand.  The  rest  of  the  country  is  beginning 
to  notice  it." 

"It  is  a  serious  matter,"  Blake  acknowledged,  "and  it 
is  affecting  the  business  interests  of  the  city.  We  see 
that  every  day." 

"If  I  had  a  free  hand  I'd  tin-can  every  dago  in  New 
Orleans." 

"Nonsense!  They're  not  all  bad.  The  great  majority 
of  them  are  good,  industrious,  law-abiding  people.  It's 
a  comparatively  small  criminal  element  that  does  the 
mischief." 

"You  think  so,  eh?  Well,  if  you  held  down  this  job 
for  a  year  you'd  be  ready  to  swear  they're  all  black- 

8  113 


THE    NET 

mailers  and  murderers.  If  they're  so  honest  and  peaceable, 
why  don't  they  come  out  and  help  us  run  down  the 
malefactors?" 

"That's  not  their  way." 

"No,  you  bet  it  isn't,"  Donnelly  affirmed.  "Things 
are  getting  worse  every  day.  The  reformers  don't  have 
to  call  my  attention  to  it;  I'm  wise.  So  far,  they  have 
confined  their  operations  to  their  own  people,  -but  what's 
to  prevent  them  from  spreading  out?  Some  day  those 
Italians  will  break  over  and  tackle  us  Americans,  and 
then  there  will  be  hell  to  pay.  I'll  be  blamed  for  not  hold 
ing  them  in  check.  Why,  you've  no  idea  of  the  com 
pleteness  of  their  organization;  it  has  a  thousand  branches 
and  it  takes  in  some  of  their  very  best  people.  I  dare  say 
you  think  this  Mafia  is  some  dago  secret  society  with 
lodge-rooms  and  grips  and  passwords  and  a  picnic  once  a 
year.  Well,  I  tell  you — 

"You  needn't  tell  me  anything  about  La  Mafia,"  Blake 
interrupted,  gravely.  "I  know  as  much  about  it,  perhaps, 
as  you  do.  Something  ought  to  be  done  to  choke  off 
this  flood  of  European  criminal  immigration.  Believe  me, 
I  realize  what  you  are  up  against,  Dan,  and  I  know,  as  you 
know,  that  La  Mafia  will  beat  you." 

"I'm  damned  if  it  will!"  exploded  the  officer.  "The 
policing  of  this  city  is  under  my  charge,  and  if  those 
people  want  to  live  here  among  us — 

The  telephone  bell  rang  and  Donnelly  broke  off  to 
answer  it. 

"Hello!  Is  that  you,  O'Connell?  Good!  Stick  around 
the  neighborhood.  We'll  be  right  over."  He  hung  up 
the  receiver  and  explained:  "O'Connell  has  him  marked 
out.  We'd  better  go." 

It  was  not  until  they  were  well  on  their  way  that 
Norvin  thought  to  mention  the  letter,  which  he  had  wished 
to  see. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  meant  to  show  it  to  you,"  said  Donnelly. 

114 


"ONE    WHO    KNOWS" 

"But  there's  nothing  unusual  about  it,  except  perhaps  the 
signature." 

"I  thought  you  said  it  was  anonymous." 

"Well,  it  is;  it's  merely  signed  'One  who  Knows.' ' 

"Does  it  mention  an  associate  of  Narcone — a  man 
named  Cardi?" 

"No.     Who's  he?" 

"I  dare  say  at  least  a  hundred  thousand  people  have 
asked  that  same  question."  Briefly  Norvin  told  what  he 
knew  of  the  reputed  chief  of  the  banditti,  of  the  terrors 
his  name  inspired  in  Sicily,  and  of  his  supposed  connection 
with  the  murder  of  Savigno.  "Once  or  twice  a  year  I 
hear  from  Colonel  Neri,"  he  added,  "  but  he  informs  me 
that  Cardi  has  never  returned  to  the  island,  so  it  occurred 
to  me  that  he  too  might  be  in  New  Orleans." 

"It's  very  likely  that  he  is,  and  if  he  was  a  Capo-Mafia 
there,  he's  probably  the  same  here.  Lord!  I'd  like  to 
get  inside  of  that  outfit;  I'd  go  through  it  like  a  sand 
storm." 

By  this  time  they  had  threaded  the  narrow  thorough 
fares  of  the  old  quarter,  and  were  nearing  the  vicinity 
of  St.  Phillip  Street,  the  heart  of  what  Donnelly  called 
"Dagotown."  There  was  little  to  distinguish  this  part 
of  the  city  from  that  through  which  they  had  come.  There 
were  the  same  dingy,  wrinkled  houses,  with  their  odd  little 
balconies  and  ornamental  iron  galleries  overhanging  the 
sidewalks  and  peering  into  one  another's  faces  as  if  to  see 
what  their  neighbors  were  up  to;  the  same  queer,  musty, 
dusty  shops,  dozing  amid  violent  foreign  odors;  the  same 
open  doorways  and  tunnel-like  entrances  leading  to  paved 
courtyards  at  the  rear.  The  steep  roofs  were  tiled  and 
moss-grown,  the  pavements  were  of  huge  stone  flags,  set 
in  between  seams  of  mud,  and  so  unevenly  placed  as  to 
make  traffic  impossible  save  by  the  light  of  day.  Along 
side  the  walks  were  open  sewers,  in  which  the  foul  and 
sluggish  current  was  setting  not  toward,  but  away  from, 

"5 


THE    NET 

the  river-front.  The  district  was  peopled  by  shadows  and 
mystery;  it  abounded  in  strange  sights  and  sounds  and 
smells. 

At  the  corner  of  Royal  and  Dumaine  they  found 
O'Connell  loitering  in  a  doorway,  and  with  a  word  he 
directed  them  to  a  small  cafe*  and  wine-shop  in  the  next 
block. 

A  moment  later  they  pushed  through  swinging  doors  and 
entered.  Donnelly  nodded  to  the  white-haired  Italian 
behind  the  bar  and  led  the  way  back  to  a  vacant  table 
against  the  wall,  where  he  and  Norvin  seated  themselves. 
There  were  perhaps  a  half-dozen  similar  tables  in  the 
room,  at  some  of  which  men  were  eating.  But  it  was  late 
for  supper,  and  for  the  most  part  the  occupants  were  either 
drinking  or  playing  cards. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  in  the  babble  of  conversa 
tion  as  the  two  stalked  boldly  in,  and  a  score  of  suspicious 
glances  were  leveled  at  them,  for  the  Chief  was  well 
known  in  the  Italian  quarter.  The  proprietor  came 
bustling  toward  the  new-comers  with  an  obsequious 
smile  upon  his  grizzled  features.  Taking  the  end  of  his 
apron  he  wiped  the  surface  of  their  table  dry,  at  the  same 
time  informing  Donnelly  in  broken  English  that  he  was 
honored  by  the  privilege  of  serving  him. 

Donnelly  ordered  a  bottle  of  wine,  then  drew  an  en 
velope  from  his  pocket  and  began  making  figures  upon  it, 
leaning  forward  and  addressing  his  companion  confiden 
tially,  to  the  complete  disregard  of  his  surroundings. 
Norvin  glued  his  eyes  upon  the  paper,  nodding  now  and 
then  as  if  in  agreement.  Although  he  had  taken  but 
one  hasty  glance  around  the  cafe*  upon  entering,  he  had 
seen  a  certain  heavy-muscled  Sicilian  whose  face  was  only 
too  familiar.  It  was  Narcone,  without  a  doubt.  Blake 
had  seen  that  brutal,  lust-coarsened  countenance  too  many 
times  in  his  dreams  to  be  mistaken,  and  while  his  one 
and  only  glimpse  had  been  secured  in  a  half-light,  his  mind 

116 


"ONE    WHO    KNOWS" 

at  that  instant  had  been  so  unnaturally  sensitized  that 
the  photograph  remained  clear  and  unfading. 

He  could  feel  Narcone  staring  at  him  now,  as  he  sat 
nodding  to  the  senseless  patter  of  the  Chief  in  a  sort  of 
breathless,  terrifying  suspense.  Would  his  own  face  recall 
to  the  fellow's  mind  that  night  in  the  forest  of  Terranova 
and  set  his  fears  aflame?  Blake's  reason  told  him  that 
such  a  thing  was  beyond  the  faintest  probability,  yet  the 
flesh  upon  his  back  was  crawling  as  if  in  anticipation  of  a 
knife-thrust.  Nevertheless,  he  lit  a  cigar  and  held  the 
match  between  fingers  which  did  not  tremble.  He  was 
fighting  his  usual,  senseless  battle,  and  he  was  winning. 
When  the  proprietor  set  the  bottle  in  front  of  him  he  filled 
both  glasses  with  a  firm  hand  and  then,  still  listening  to 
Donnelly's  words,  he  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  let  his 
eyes  rove  casually  over  the  room.  He  encountered 
Narcone's  evil  gaze  when  the  glass  was  half-way  to  his 
lips  and  returned  it  boldly  for  an  instant.  It  filled  him 
with  an  odd  satisfaction  to  note  that  not  a  ripple  disturbed 
the  red  surface  of  the  wine. 

"Have  you  'made'  him?"  Donnelly  inquired  under  his 
breath. 

Blake  nodded:  "The  tall  fellow  at  the  third  table." 

' '  That's  him,  all  right, ' '  agreed  the  Chief.  ' '  He  doesn't 
remember  you." 

"I  didn't  expect  him  to;  I've  changed  considerably,  and 
besides  he  never  saw  me  distinctly,  as  I  told  you  before." 

"You've  got  the  policeman's  eye,"  declared  Donnelly 
with  enthusiasm.  "I  wanted  you  to  pick  him  out  by 
yourself.  We'll  go,  now,  as  soon  as  we  lap  up  this  dago 
vinegar." 

Out  in  the  street  again,  Blake  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  for 
even  this  little  harmless  adventure  had  been  a  trial  to  his 
unruly  nerves. 

"We'll  drift  past  the  Red  Wing  Club;  it's  a  hang-out  of 
mine  and  I  want  to  talk  further  with  you,"  said  Donnelly. 

117 


THE   NET 

They  turned  back  towards  the  heart  of  the  city,  stop 
ping  a  moment  while  the  Chief  directed  O'Connell  to  keep 
a  close  watch  upon  Narcone. 

The  Red  Wing  Club  was  not  really  a  club  at  all,  but  a 
small  restaurant  which  had  become  known  for  certain 
of  its  culinary  specialties  and  had  gathered  to  itself  a 
somewhat  select  clientele  of  bons  vivants,  who  dined  there 
after  the  leisurely  continental  fashion.  Thither  the  two 
men  betook  themselves. 

"I  can't  see  what  real  good  those  extradition  papers  are 
going  to  do  you,  even  now  that  you're  sure  of  your  man," 
said  Norvin  as  soon  as  they  were  seated.  "It  won't  be 
difficult  to  arrest  him,  but  to  extradite  him  will  prove 
quite  another  matter.  I'm  not  eager  myself  to  take  the 
stand  against  him,  for  obvious  reasons."  Donnelly 
nodded  his  appreciation.  "I  will  do  so,  if  necessary,  of 
course,  but  my  evidence  won't  counterbalance  all  the 
testimony  Sabella  will  be  able  to  bring.  We  know  he's 
the  man;  his  friends  know  it,  but  they'll  unite  to  swear  he 
is  really  Vito  Sabella,  a  gentle,  sweet  soul  whom  they  knew 
in  Sicily,  and  they'll  prove  he  was  here  in  America  at  the 
time  Martel  Savigno  was  murdered.  If  we  had  him  in  New 
York,  away  from  his  friends,  it  would  be  different ;  he'd  go 
back  to  Sicily,  and  once  there  he'd  hang,  as  he  deserves." 

Donnelly  swore  under  his  breath.  "It's  the  thing  I 
run  foul  of  every  time  I  try  to  enforce  the  law  against  these 
people.  But  just  the  same  I'm  going  to  get  this  fellow, 
somehow,  for  he's  one  of  the  gang  that  fired  into  the 
Pallozzos  and  killed  Tony  Alto.  That's  another  thing 
I  know  but  can't  prove.  What  made  you  ask  if  that  letter 
was  written  by  a  woman?  Has  Sabella  a  sweetheart?" 

" Not  to  my  knowledge.  I — "  Norvin  hesitated.  "No, 
Sabella  has  no  sweetheart,  but  Savigno  had.  I  haven't 
told  you  much  of  that  part  of  my  story.  It's  no  use  my 
trying  to  give  you  an  idea  of  what  kind  of  woman  the 
Countess  of  Terranova  was,  or  is — you  wouldn't  under- 

118 


"ONE    WHO    KNOWS" 

stand.  It's  enough  to  say  that  she  is  a  woman  of  extraor 
dinary  character,  wholly  devoted  to  Martel's  memory, 
and  Sicilian  to  the  backbone.  After  her  lover's  death, 
when  the  police  had  failed,  she  swore  to  be  avenged  upon 
his  murderers.  I  know  it  sounds  strange,  but  it  didn't 
seem  so  strange  to  me  then.  I  tried  to  reason  with  her, 
but  it  was  a  waste  of  breath.  When  I  returned  to  Sicily 
after  my  mother  died,  Margherita — the  Countess — had 
disappeared.  I  tried  every  means  to  find  her — you  know, 
Martel  left  her,  in  a  way,  under  my  care — but  I  couldn't 
locate  her  in  any  Italian  city.  Then  I  learned  that  she 
had  come  to  the  United  States  and  took  up  the  search  on 
this  side.  It's  a  long  story;  the  gist  of  it  is  simply  that  I 
looked  up  every  possibility,  and  finally  gave  up  in  despair. 
That  was  more  than  four  years  ago.  I  have  no  idea  that 
all  this  has  any  connection  with  our  present  problem." 

Donnelly  listened  with  interest,  and  for  a  time  plied 
Blake  with  shrewd  questions,  but  at  length  the  subject 
seemed  to  lose  its  importance  in  his  mind. 

"It's  a  queer  coincidence,"  he  said.  "But  the  letter 
was  mailed  in  this  city  and  by  some  one  familiar  with 
Narcone's  movements  up  to  date.  If  your  Countess 
was  here  you'd  surely  know  it.  This  isn't  New  York. 
Besides,  women  don't  make  good  detectives;  they  get 
discouraged.  I  dare  say  she  went  back  to  Italy  long  ago 
and  is  married  now,  with  a  dozen  or  more  little  counts  and 
countesses  around  her." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Blake,  "that  she  can't  be  the 
'One  Who  Knows.'  There  are  too  many  easier  explana 
tions,  and  I  couldn't  hope —  '  He  checked  himself.  "Well, 
I  guess  I've  told  you  about  all  I  know.  Call  on  me  at  any 
time  that  I  can  be  of  assistance." 

He  left  rather  abruptly,  struggling  with  a  sense  of  self- 
disgust  in  that  he  had  been  led  to  talk  of  Margherita 
unnecessarily,  yet  with  a  curious  undercurrent  of  excite 
ment  running  through  his  mood. 

119 


MYRA   NELL  WARREN 

Miss  MYRA  NELL  WARREN  seldom  commenced  her 
toilet  with  that  feeling  of  pleasurable  anticipation 
common  to  most  girls  of  her  age.  Not  that  she  failed  to 
appreciate  her  own  good  looks,  for  she  did  not,  but  be 
cause  in  order  to  attain  the  desired  effects  she  was  forced 
to  exercise  a  nice  discrimination  which  can  be  appreciated 
only  by  those  who  have  attempted  to  keep  up  appearances 
upon  an  income  never  equal  to  one's  requirements.  She 
had  many  dresses,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  as  familiar  to 
her  as  family  portraits,  and  even  among  her  most  blinded 
admirers  they  had  been  known  to  stir  the  chords  of  re 
membrance.  Then,  too,  they  were  always  getting  lost,  for 
Myra  Nell  had  a  way  of  scattering  other  things  than  her 
affections.  She  had  often  likened  her  dresses  to  an  army 
of  Central  American  troops,  for  mere  ragged  abundance 
in  which  there  lay  no  real  fighting  strength.  Having  been 
molded  to  fit  the  existing  fashions  in  ladies'  clothes, 
and  bred  to  a  careless  extravagance,  poverty  brought 
the  girl  many  complexities  and  worries. 

To-night,  however,  she  was  in  a  very  happy  frame  of 
mind  as  she  began  dressing,  and  Bernie,  hearing  her 
singing  blithely,  paused  outside  her  door  to  inquire  the 
cause. 

"Can't  you  guess,  stupid?"  she  replied. 

"Um-m!     I  didn't  know  he  was  coming." 

"Well,  he  is.  And,  Bernie — have  you  seen  my  white 
satin  slippers?" 

I2O 


MYRA    NELL    WARREN 

"  How  in  the  world  should  I  see  them?" 

"It  isn't  them,  it  is  just  him.  I've  discovered  one 
under  the  bed,  but  the  other  has  disappeared,  gone, 
skedaddled.  Do  rummage  around  and  find  it  for  me,  won't 
you?  I  think  it's  down-stairs — " 

"My  dear  child,"  her  brother  began  in  mild  exaspera 
tion,  "how  can  it  be  down-stairs — " 

The  door  of  Myra  Nell's  room  burst  open  suddenly, 
and  a  very  animated  face  peered  around  the  edge  at  him. 

"Because  I  left  it  there,  purposely.  I  kicked  it  off — 
it  hurt.  At  least  I  think  I  did,  although  I'm  not  sure.  I 
kicked  it  off  somewhere." 

Miss  Warren's  words  had  a  way  of  rushing  forth  head 
over  heels,  in  a  glad,  frolicky  manner  which  was  most 
delightful,  although  somewhat  damaging  to  grammar. 
But  she  was  too  enthusiastic  to  waste  time  on  grammar; 
life  forever  pressed  her  too  closely  to  allow  repose  of 
thought,  of  action,  or  of  speech. 

"Now,  don't  get  huffy,  honey,"  she  ran  on.  "If  you 
only  knew  how  I've —  Oh,  goody!  you're  going  out!" 

"I  was  going  out,  but  of  course — ". 

"Now  don't  be  silly.     He  isn't  coming  to  see  you." 

Bernie  exclaimed  in  a  shocked  voice: 

"  Myra  Nell !  You  know  I  never  leave  you  to  entertain 
your  callers  alone.  It  isn't  proper." 

She  sighed.  "It  isn't  proper  to  entertain  them  on  one 
foot,  like  a  stork,  either.  Do  be  a  dear,  now,  and  find  my 
slipper.  I've  worn  myself  to  the  bone,  I  positively  have, 
hunting  for  it,  and  I'm  in  tears." 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "I'll  look,  but  why  don't  you 
take  care  of  your  things?  The  idea — " 

She  pouted  a  pair  of  red  lips  at  him,  slammed  the  door 
in  his  face,  and  began  singing  joyously  once  more. 

"What  dress  are  you  going  to  wear?"  he  called  to  her. 

"That  white  one  with  all  the  chiffon  missing." 
What  has  become  of  the  chiffon  ?"  he  demanded,  sternly. 

121 


THE    NET 

"  I  must  have  stepped  on  it  at  the  dance.  I — in  fact,  I 
know  I  did." 

"Of  course  you  saved  it?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  I  can't  find  it  now.  If  you  could 
only—" 

"No!"  he  cried,  firmly,  and  dashed  down  the  stairs  two 
steps  at  a  time.  From  the  lower  hall  he  called  up  to 
her,  "Wear  the  new  one,  and  be  sure  to  let  me  see  you 
before  he  comes." 

Bernie  sighed  as  he  hung  up  his  hat,  for  he  had  looked 
forward  through  a  dull,  disappointing  day  to  an  evening 
with  Felicit6  Delord.  She  was  expecting  him — she  would 
be  greatly  disappointed.  He  sighed  a  second  time,  for 
he  was  far  from  happy.  Life  seemed  to  be  one  long  con 
stant  worry  over  money  matters  and  Myra  Nell.  Being 
a  prim,  orderly  man,  he  intensely  disliked  searching  for 
mislaid  articles,  but  he  began  a  systematic  hunt;  for, 
knowing  Myra  Nell's  peculiar  irresponsibility,  he  was 
prepared  to  find  the  missing  slipper  anywhere  between 
the  hammock  on  the  front  gallery  and  the  kitchen  in  the 
rear.  However,  a  full  half -hour's  search  failed  to  discover 
it.  He  had  been  under  most  of  the  furniture  and  was  both 
hot  and  dusty  when  she  came  bouncing  in  upon  him. 
Miss  Warren  never  walked  nor  glided  nor  swayed  sinu 
ously  as  languorous  Southern  society  belles  are  supposed 
to  do;  she  romped  and  bounced,  and  she  was  chattering 
amiably  at  this  moment. 

"Here  I  am,  Bunny,  decked  out  like  an  empress.  The 
new  dress  is  a  duck  and  I'm  ravishing — perfectly  ravish 
ing.  Eh?  What?" 

He  wriggled  out  from  beneath  the  horsehair  sofa,  rose, 
and,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  pointed 
with  a  trembling  finger  at  her  feet. 

"There!  There  it  is,"  he  said  in  a  terrible  tone. 
"That's  it  on  your  foot." 

"Oh,  yes.      I  found  it  right  after  you  came  down- 

122 


MYRA   NELL    WARREN 

stairs."  She  burst  out  laughing  at  his  disheveled  appear 
ance.  "I  forgot  you  were  looking.  But  come,  admire 
me!"  She  revolved  before  his  eyes,  and  he  smiled  de 
lightedly. 

In  truth,  Miss  Warren  presented  a  picture  to  bring  ad 
miration  into  any  eye,  and  although  she  was  entirely 
lacking  in  poise  and  dignity,  her  constant  restless  vivacity 
and  the  witch-like  spirit  of  laughter  that  possessed  her 
were  quite  as  engaging.  She  was  a  madcap,  fly-away 
creature  whose  ravishing  face  was  framed  by  an  unruly 
mop  of  dark  hair,  which  no  amount  of  attention  could 
hold  in  place.  Little  dancing  curls  and  wisps  and  ringlets 
were  forever  escaping  in  coquettish  fashion: 

Bernie  regarded  her  critically  from  head  to  foot,  absent- 
mindedly  brushing  from  his  own  immaculate  person  the 
dust  which  bore  witness  to  his  sister's  housekeeping.  In 
his  eyes  this  girl  was  more  than  a  queen,  she  was  a  sort  of 
deity,  and  she  could  do  no  wrong.  He  was  by  no  means 
an  admirable  man  himself,  but  he  saw  in  her  all  the  virtues 
which  he  lacked,  and  his  simple  devotion  was  touching. 

"You  didn't  comb  your  hair,"  he  said,  severely. 

"Oh,  I  did!  I  combed  it  like  mad,  but  the  hairpins 
pop  right  out,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Anyway ,  there  weren't 
enough." 

"Well,  I  found  some  on  the  piano,"  he  said,  "so  I'll 
fix  you." 

With  deft  fingers  he  secured  the  stray  locks  which  were 
escaping,  working  as  skilfully  as  a  hair-dresser. 

"Oh,  but  you're  a  nuisance,"  she  told  him,  as  she  ac 
cepted  his  aid  with  the  fidgety  impatience  of  a  restless 
boy.  "They'll  pop  right  out  again." 

"They  wouldn't  if  you  didn't  jerk  and  flirt  around — " 

"Flirt,  indeed!  Bunny!  Bunny!  What  an  idea!" 
She  kissed  him  with  a  resounding  smack,  squarely  upon 
the  end  of  his  thin  nose,  then  flounced  over  to  the  old- 
fashioned  haircloth  sofa. 

123 


THE    NET 

Now,  Mr.  Dreux  abhorred  the  name  of  Bunny,  and  above 
all  things  he  abominated  Myra  Nell's  method  of  saluting 
him  upon  the  nose,  but  she  only  laughed  at  his  exclamation 
of  disgust,  saying: 

"Well,  well!    You  haven't  told  me  how  nice  I  look." 

"There  is  no  possible  hope  for  him,"  he  acknowledged. 
"  The  gown  fits  very  nicely,  too. ' ' 

"Chloe  did  it — she  cut  it  off,  and  sewed  on  the  doo 
dads—" 

"The  what?" 

"The  ruffly  things."  Myra  Nell  sighed.  "It's  hard 
to  make  a  dressmaker  out  of  a  cook.  Her  soul  never  rises 
above  fried  chicken  and  light  bread,  but  she  did  pretty 
well  this  time,  almost  as  well  as —  Do  you  know,  Bunny, 
you'd  have  made  a  dandy  dressmaker." 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said  in  scandalized  tones,  "you 
get  more  slangy  every  day.  It's  not  ladylike." 

"I  know,  but  it  gets  you  there  quicker.  Lordy!  I 
hope  he  doesn't  keep  me  waiting  until  I  get  all  wrinkled 
up.  Why  don't  you  go  out  and  have  a  good  time?  I'll 
entertain  him." 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  leave  you  alone." 

She  made  a  little  laughing  grimace  at  him  and  said: 

"Well,  then,  if  you  must  stay,  I'll  keep  him  out  on  the 
gallery  all  to  myself.  It's  a  lovely  night,  and,  besides,  the 
drawing-room  is  getting  to  smell  musty.  Mind  you, 
don't  get  into  any  mischief." 

She  bounced  up  from  the  sofa  and  gave  his  ear  a  playful 
tweak  with  her  pink  fingers,  then  danced  out  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  she  rattled  off  a  part  of  a  piano 
selection  at  breakneck  speed,  ending  in  the  middle  with  a 
crash,  and  finally  flung  open  the  long  French  blinds. 
The  next  instant  he  heard  her  swinging  furiously  in  the 
hammock. 

Bernie  smiled  fondly,  as  a  mother  smiles,  and  his 
pinched  little  face  was  glorified,  then  he  sighed  for  a  third 

124 


MYRA    NELL    WARREN 

time,  as  he  thought  of  Felicite  Delord,  and  regretfully 
settled  himself  down  to  a  dull  and  solitary  evening.  The 
library  had  Jong  since  been  denuded  of  its  valuable  books, 
in  the  same  way  that  the  old  frame  mansion  had  lost  its 
finer  furniture,  piece  by  piece,  as  some  whim  of  its  mistress 
made  a  sacrifice  necessary.  In  consequence,  about  all 
that  remained  now  to  afford  Bernie  amusement  were 
certain  works  on  art  which  had  no  market  value.  Se 
lecting  one  of  these,  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  lost  himself 
among  the  old  masters. 

When  Norvin  Blake  came  up  the  walk  beneath  the  live- 
oak  and  magnolia  trees,  Myra  Nell  met  him  at  the  top  of 
the  steps,  and  her  cool, fresh  loveliness  struck  him  as  some 
thing  extremely  pleasant  to  look  upon,  after  his  heated, 
bustling  day  on  the  Exchange. 

"  Bernie 's  in  the  library  feasting  on  Spanish  masters, 
so  if  you  don't  mind  we'll  sit  out  here,"  she  told  him. 

"I'll  be  delighted,"  he  assured  her.  "In  that  way  I 
may  be  seen  and  so  excite  the  jealousy  of  certain  fellows 
who  have  been  monopolizing  you  lately." 

"A  little  jealousy  is  a  good  thing,  so  I'll  help  you. 
But — they  don't  have  it  in  them.  They're  as  calm  and 
placid  as  bayou  water." 

Blake  was  fond  of  mildly  teasing  the  girl  about  her 
popularity,  assuming,  as  an  old  friend,  a  whimsically  in 
jured  tone.  She  could  never  be  sure  how  much  or  little 
his  speeches  meant,  but,  being  an  outrageous  little  coquette 
herself,  she  seldom  put  much  confidence  in  any  one's 
words. 

"Tell  me,"  he  went  on  —  "I  haven't  seen  you  for  a 
week — who  are  you  engaged  to  now?" 

"The  idea!  I'm  never  really  engaged;  that  is,  hardly 
ever." 

"Then  there  is  a  terrible  misapprehension  at  large!" 

"Oh,  I'm  always  misapprehended.  Even  Bernie  mis 
apprehends  me;  he  thinks  I'm  frivolous  and  light-minded, 


THE    NET 

but  I'm  not.  I'm  really  very  serious;  I'm — I'm  almost 
morose." 

He  laughed  at  her.  "  You  don't  mean  to  deny  you  have 
a  bewildering  train  of  admirers?" 

"Perhaps,  but  I  don't  like  to  think  of  them.  You  see, 
it  takes  years  to  collect  a  real  train  of  admirers,  and  it 
argues  that  a  girl  is  a  fixture.  That's  something  I  won't 
be.  I'm  beginning  to  feel  like  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city, 
such  as  Bernie  points  out  to  his  Northern  tourists.  Of 
course,  you're  the  exception.  I  don't  think  we've  ever 
been  engaged,  have  we?" 

"Um-m!  I  believe  not.  I  don't  care  to  be  considered 
eccentric,  however.  It  isn't  too  late." 

"Bernie  wouldn't  allow  it  for  a  moment,  and,  besides, 
you're  too  serious.  A  girl  should  never  engage  herself  to  a 
serious-minded  man  unless  she's  really  ready  to — marry 
him." 

"How  true!" 

"By  the  way,"  she  chattered  on,  "what  in  the  world 
have  you  done  to  Bernie?  He  has  talked  nothing  but 
Mafia  and  murders  and  vendettas  ever  since  he  saw  you 
the  other  day." 

"He  told  you  about  meeting  Donnelly  in  my  office?" 

"Yes!  He's  become  tremendously  interested  in  the 
Italian  question  all  at  once;  he  reads  all  the  papers  and 
he  haunts  the  foreign  quarter.  He  tells  me  we  have  a  fear 
ful  condition  of  affairs  here.  Of  course  I  don't  know  what 
he's  talking  about,  but  he's  very  much  in  earnest,  and 
wants  to  help  Mr.  Donnelly  do  something  or  other — kill 
somebody,  I  judge." 

"Really!     I  didn't  suppose  he  cared  for  such  things." 

"Neither  did  I.  But  your  story  worked  him  all  up. 
Of  course,  I  read  about  you  long  ago,  and  that's  how 
I  knew  you  were  a  hero.  When  you  returned  from 
abroad  I  was  simply  smothered  with  excitement  until  I 
met  you.  The  idea  of  your  fighting  with  bandits,  and  all 

126 


MYRA    NELL    WARREN 

that!     But    tell    me,  did    you    discover    that   murderer 
creature?" 

"Yes.     We  identified  him." 

"Oh-h!"  The  girl  fairly  wriggled  with  eagerness,  and 
he  had  to  smile  at  her  as  she  leaned  forward  waiting  for 
details.  "Bernie  said  you  asked  him  to  go,  but  he  was 
afraid.  I — I  wish  you'd  take  me  the  next  time.  Fancy ! 
What  did  he  do?  Was  he  a  tall,  dangerous-looking  man? 
Did  he  grind  his  teeth  at  you?" 

"No,  no!"  Norvin  briefly  explained  the  very  ordinary 
happenings  of  his  trip  with  the  Chief  of  Police,  to  which 
she  listened  with  her  usual  intensity  of  interest  in  the 
subject  of  the  moment. 

"You  won't  have  to  testify  against  him  in  those  what- 
do-you-call-'em  proceedings?"  she  asked  as  soon  as  he 
had  finished. 

"Extradition?" 

"Why!  Why,  they'll  blow  you  up,  or  do  something 
dreadful!" 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to.  Donnelly  is  bent  on  arresting 
him,  and  I  owe  something  to  the  memory  of  Martel 
Savigno." 

"You  mustn't!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  gravity  quite 
surprising  in  her.  "When  Bernie  told  me  what  it  might 
lead  to,  it  frightened  me  nearly  to  death.  He  says  this 
Mafia  is  a  perfectly  awful  affair.  You  won't  get  mixed 
up  in  it,  will  you?  Please!" 

The  girl  who  was  speaking  now  was  not  the  Myra  Nell 
he  knew;  her  tone  of  real  concern  struck  him  very  agree 
ably.  Beneath  her  customary  mood  of  intoxication  with 
the  joy  of  living  he  had  occasionally  caught  fleeting  glimp 
ses  of  a  really  unusual  depth  of  feeling,  and  the  thought 
that  she  was  concerned  for  his  welfare  filled  him  with  a 
selfish  gladness.  Nevertheless,  he  answered  her,  truly: 

"I  can't  promise  that.  I  rather  feel  that  I  owe  it  to 
Martel." 

127 


THE    NET 

"He's  dead!    That  sounds  brutal,  but—" 

"I  owe  something  also  to — those  he  left  behind." 

"You  mean  that  Sicilian  woman — that  Countess.  I 
suppose  you  know  I'm  horribly  jealous  of  her?" 

"I  didn't  know  it." 

"  I  am.  Just  think  of  it — a  real  Countess,  with  a  castle, 
and  dozens — thousands  of  gorgeous  dresses!  Was  she — • 
beautiful?" 

"Very!" 

"Don't  say  it  that  way.  Goodness!  How  I  hate 
her!" 

Miss  Warren  flounced  back  into  the  corner  of  the 
hammock,  andNorvin  said  with  a  laugh: 

"No  wonder  you  have  a  train  of  suitors." 

"I've  never  seen  a  really  beautiful  Italian  woman — 
except  Vittoria  Fabrizi,  of  course." 

"Your  friend,  the  nurse?" 

"Yes,  and  she's  not  really  Italian,  she's  just  like  any 
body  else.  She  was  here  to  see  me  again  this  afternoon, 
by  the  way;  it's  her  day  off  at  the  hospital,  you  know.  I 
want  you  to  meet  her.  You'll  fall  desperately  in  love." 

"Really,  I'm  not  interested  in  trained  nurses,  and  I 
wouldn't  want  you  to  hate  her  as  you  hate  the  Countess." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  hate  Vittoria,  she's  such  a  dear.  She 
saved  my  life,  you  know." 

"Nonsense!    You  only  had  a  sprained  ankle." 

"Yes,  but  it  was  a  perfectly  odious  sprain.  Nobody 
knows  how  I  suffered.  And  to  think  it  was  all  Bernie's 
fault!" 

"How  so?    You  fell  off  a  horse." 

"I  did  not,"  indignantly  declared  Miss  Warren.  "I 
was  thrown,  hurled,  flung,  violently  projected,  and  then 
I  was  frightfully  trampled  by  a  snorting  steed." 

Norvin  laughed  heartily  at  this,  for  he  knew  the  rickety 
old  family  horse  very  well  by  sight,  and  the  picture  she 
conjured  up  was  amusing. 

128 


MYRA    NELL    WARREN 

"How  do  you  manage  to  blame  it  on  Bernie?"  he  in 
quired. 

"Well,  he  forbade  me  to  ride  horseback,  so  of  course 
I  had  to  do  it." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"I  fixed  up  a  perfectly  ravishing  habit.  I  couldn't 
ask  Bernie  to  buy  me  one,  since  he  refused  to  let  me  ride, 
so  I  made  a  skirt  out  of  our  grand-piano  cover — it  was 
miles  long,  and  a  darling  shade  of  green.  When  it  came  to 
a  hat  I  was  stumped  until  I  thought  of  Bernie's  silk  one. 
No  mother  ever  loved  a  child  as  he  loved  that  hat,  you 
know.  I  twisted  his  evening  scarf  around  it,  and  the 
effect  was  really  stunning — it  floated  beautifully.  Babylon 
and  I  formed  a  picture,  I  can  tell  you.  I  call  the  horse 
Babylon  because  he's  such  an  old  ruin.  But  I  don't 
believe  any  one  ever  rode  him  before;  he  didn't  seem  to 
know  what  it  was  all  about.  He  was  very  bony,  too,  and 
he  stuck  out  in  places.  I  suppose  we  would  have  gotten 
along  all  right  if  I  hadn't  tried  to  make  him  prance.  He 
wouldn't  do  it,  so  I  jabbed  him." 

"Jabbed  him?" 

Myra  Nell  nodded  vigorously.  "  With  my  hat-pin.  I 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  him,  but — oh  my!  He  isn't  nearly 
so  old  as  we  think.  I  suppose  the  surprise  did  it.  Any 
how,  he  became  a  raging  demon  in  a  second,  and  when 
they  picked  me  up  I  had  a  sprained  ankle  and  the  piano 
cover  was  a  sight." 

"I  suppose  Babylon  ran  away?" 

"No,  he  was  standing  there,  with  one  foot  right  through 
Bernie's  high  hat.  That  was  the  terrible  part  of  it  all — 
I  had  to  pretend  I  was  nearly  killed,  just  to  take  Bernie's 
mind  off  the  hat.  I  stayed  in  bed  for  the  longest  time — I 
was  afraid  to  get  up — and  he  got  Vittoria  Fabrizi  to  wait 
on  me.  So  that's  how  I  met  her.  You  can't  linger  along 
with  your  life  in  a  person's  hands  for  weeks  at  a  time 
without  getting  attached  to  her.  I  was  sorry  for  Babylon, 
9  129 


THE    NET 

so  I  had  Chloe  put  a  poultice  on  his  back  where  I  jabbed 
him.  Now  I'd  like  to  know  if  that  isn't  Bernie's  fault. 
He  should  have  allowed  me  to  ride  and  then  I  wouldn't 
have  wanted  to.  Poor  boy !  he  was  the  one  to  suffer  after 
all.  He'd  planned  to  take  a  trip  somewhere,  but  of 
course  he  couldn't  do  that  and  pay  for  a  trained  nurse, 
too." 

Myra  Nell's  allusion  to  her  brother's  financial  condi 
tion  reminded  Blake  of  the  subject  which  had  been  upper 
most  in  his  mind  all  evening,  and  he  decided  to  broach 
it  now.  Subsequent  to  his  last  talk  with  Dreux  he  had 
thought  a  good  deal  about  that  proffered  loan  and  had 
come  to  regard  Bernie's  refusal  as  unwarranted.  To  be 
Queen  of  the  Carnival  was  an  honor  given  to  but  few  young 
women,  and  one  that  would  probably  never  come  to  Miss 
Warren  again,  so  even  at  the  risk  of  offending  her  half- 
brother  he  had  decided  to  lay  the  matter  before  Myra 
Nell  herself.  She  ought  at  least  to  have  in  later  years  the 
consoling  thought  that  she  had  once  refused  the  royal 
scepter.  He  hoped,  however,  that  her  persuasion  added  to 
his  own  would  bring  Dreux  to  a  change  of  heart. 

"If  you'll  promise  to  make  no  scene,  refrain  from 
hysterics,  and  all  that,"  he  began,  warningly,  "I'll  tell 
you  some  good  news." 

"How  silly!  I'm  an  iceberg!  I  never  get  excited !"  she 
declared. 

"  Well  then,  how  would  you  like  to  be  Queen  of  the  next 
Mardi  Gras?" 

Myra  Nell  gasped  faintly  in  the  darkness,  and  sat  bolt- 
upright. 

"You — you're  joking." 

"That's  no  answer." 

"I — I—  Do  you  mean  it?  Oh!"  She  was  out  of  the 
hammock  now  and  poised  tremblingly  before  him,  like  a 
bird.  "Honestly?  You're  not  fooling?  Norvin,  you 
dear  duck!"  She  clapped  her  hands  together  gleefully 

130 


MYRA   NELL   WARREN 

and  began  to  dance  up  and  down.    "I — I'm  going  to 
scream." 

"Remember  your  promise." 

"Oh,  but  Queen!  Queen!  Why  I'm  dreaming.  I  must 
scream." 

"I  gather  from  these  rapt  incoherencies  that  you'd  like 
it." 

"Like  it!  You  silly!  Like  it?  Haven't  I  lived  for 
it?  Haven't  I  dreamed  about  it  ever  since  I  was  a  baby? 
Wouldn't  any  girl  give  her  eyes  to  be  queen  ?"  She  seemed 
upon  the  verge  of  kissing  him,  perhaps  upon  the  nose,  but 
changed  her  mind  and  went  dancing  around  his  chair  like 
some  moon-mad  sprite.  He  seized  her,  barely  in  time 
to  prevent  her  from  crying  the  news  aloud  to  Bernie, 
explaining  hastily  that  she  must  breathe  no  word  to  any 
one  for  the  time  being  and  must  first  win  her  brother's 
consent.  It  was  very  difficult  to  impress  her  with  the 
fact  that  the  Carnival  was  still  a  long  way  off  and  that 
Bernie  was  yet  to  be  reckoned  with. 

"As  if  there  could  be  any  question  of  my  accepting," 
she  chattered.  "Dear,  dear!  Why  shouldn't  I?  And 
it  was  lovely  of  you  to  arrange  it  for  me,  too.  Oh,  I 
know  you  did,  so  you  needn't  deny  it.  I  hope  you're 
to  be  Rex.  Wouldn't  that  be  splendid — but  of  course  you 
wouldn't  tell  me." 

"I  can  tell  you  this  much,  that  I  am  not  to  be  King. 
Now  I  have  already  spoken  to  Bernie — " 

"The  wretch!    He  never  breathed  a  word  of  it." 

"He's  afraid  he  can't  afford  it." 

"Oh,  la,  la!  He'll  have  to.  I'll  die  if  he  refuses- 
just  die.  You  know  I  will." 

"We'll  bring  him  around,  between  us.  You  talk  to  him 
after  I  go,  and  the  next  time  I  see  him  I'll  clinch  matters. 
You'll  make  the  most  gorgeous  of  queens,  Myra  Nell." 

"You  think  so?"  She  blushed  prettily  in  the  gloom. 
"I'll  have  to  be  very  dignified;  the  train  is  as  long  as  a 


THE    NET 

hall  carpet  and  I'll  have  to  walk  this  way."  She  illus 
trated  the  royal  step,  bowing  to  him  with  a  regal  inclina 
tion  of  her  dark  head,  and  then  broke  out  into  rippling 
life  and  laughter  so  infectious  that  he  felt  he  was  a  boy 
once  more. 

The  girl's  unaffected  spontaneity  was  her  most  adorable 
trait.  She  was  like  a  dancing  ray  of  sunshine,  and  under 
neath  her  blithesome  carelessness  was  a  fine,  clean,  tender 
nature.  Blake  watched  her  with  his  eyes  alight,  for  all 
men  loved  Myra  Nell  Warren  and  it  was  conceded  among 
those  who  worshiped  at  her  shrine  that  he  who  finally 
received  her  love  in  return  for  his  would  be  favored  far 
above  his  kind.  She  was  closer  to  him  to-night  than  ever 
before;  she  seemed  to  reach  out  and  take  him  into  her 
warm  confidence,  while  he  felt  her  appeal  more  strongly 
than  at  any  time  in  their  acquaintance.  Of  course  she 
did  not  let  him  do  much  talking,  she  never  did  that,  and 
now  her  head  was  full  of  dreams,  of  delirious  anticipations, 
of  splendid  visions. 

At  last,  when  she  had  thanked  him  in  as  many  ways  as 
she  could  think  of  for  his  kindness  and  the  time  drew 
near  for  him  to  leave,  she  fell  serious  in  a  most  abrupt 
manner,  and  then  to  his  great  surprise  referred  once  again 
to  his  affair  with  the  Mafia. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  my  joy  would  be  supreme  to-night 
if  I  knew  you  would  drop  that  Italian  matter,"  she  said. 
"The  consequences  may  be  terrible  and — I — don't  want 
you  to  get  into  trouble." 

"I'll  be  careful,"  he  told  her,  but  as  she  stood  with  her 
hand  in  his  she  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  which  were 
no  longer  sparkling  with  fun,  but  deep  and  dark  with 
shadows,  saying,  gently: 

"Is  there  nothing  which  would  induce  you  to  change 
your  mind?" 

"That's  not  a  fair  question." 

"I  shall  be  worried  to  death — and  I  detest  worry." 

132 


MYRA    NELL    WARREN 

"There's  no  necessity  for  the  least  bit  of  concern," 
he  assured  her.  But  there  was  a  plaintive  wrinkle  upon 
her  brow  as  she  watched  him  swing  down  the  walk  to  the 
street. 

As  Blake  strolled  homeward  he  began  to  reflect  that  this 
charming  intimacy  with  Myra  Nell  Warren  could  not  go 
much  farther  without  doing  her  an  injustice.  The  time 
was  rapidly  nearing  when  he  would  have  to  make  up  his 
mind  either  to  have  very  much  more  or  very  much  less  of 
her  society.  He  was  undeniably  fond  of  her,  for  she  not 
only  interested  him,  but,  what  is  far  rarer  and  quite  as 
important,  she  amused  him.  Moreover,  she  was  of  his 
own  people ;  the  very  music  of  her  Southern  speech  soothed 
his  ear  in  contrast  with  the  harsh  accents  of  his  Northern 
acquaintances.  The  thought  came  to  him  with  a  pro 
found  appeal  that  she  might  grow  to  love  him  with  that 
unswerving  faithfulness  which  distinguishes  the  Southern 
woman.  And  yet,  strangely  enough,  when  he  retired 
that  night  it  was  not  with  her  picture  in  his  mind,  but  that 
of  a  splendid,  tawny  Sicilian  girl  with  lips  as  fresh  as  a 
half-opened  flower  and  eyes  as  deep  as  the  sea. 


XI 

THE  KIDNAPPING 

BERNIE  DREUX  appeared  at  Blake's  office  on  the 
following  afternoon  with  a  sour  look  upon  his  face.  Norvin 
had  known  he  would  come,  but  hardly  expected  Myra  Nell 
to  win  her  victory  so  easily.  Without  waiting  for  the 
little  man  to  speak,  he  began: 

"I  know  what  you're  here  for  and  I  know  just  what 
you're  going  to  tell  me,  so  proceed;  run  me  through  with 
your  reproaches;  I  offer  no  resistance." 

"Do  you  think  you  acted  very  decently?"  Dreux  in 
quired. 

"My  dear  Bernie,  a  crown  was  at  stake." 

"A  crown  of  thorns  for  me.     It  means  bankruptcy." 

"Then  you  have  consented?  Good!  I  knew  you 
would." 

"Of  course  you  knew  I  would;  that's  what  makes  your 
trick  so  abominable.  I  didn't  think  it  of  you." 

"That's  because  you  don't  know  my  depravity;  few 
people  do." 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  accepted  your  loan  and 
never  paid  you  back." 

"It  would  indeed."  Blake  laughingly  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  friend's  shoulder.  "What's  more,  that  is  exactly 
what  I  would  do  in  your  place.  I'd  borrow  all  I  could  and 
give  my  sister  her  one  supreme  hour,  free  from  all  dis 
turbing  fears  and  embarrassments;  then  I'd  tell  the  im 
pertinent  meddler  who  was  to  blame  for  my  trouble  to 
go  whistle  for  his  satisfaction.  Of  course  Miss  Myra 
Nell  doesn't  suspect?" 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

"Oh,  Heaven  forbid!"  piously  exclaimed  Dreux. 

"Now  how  much  will  you  need?" 

' '  I  don't  know ;  some  fabulous  sum.  There  will  be  gowns, 
and  luncheons,  and  carriages,  and  entertaining.  I  will 
have  to  figure  it  out." 

"  Do.  Then  double  it.  And  thanks  awfully  for  coming 
to  your  senses." 

"That's  just  the  point — I  haven't  come  to  them,  I'm 
perfectly  insane  to  consider  it,"  Bernie  declared,  savagely. 
"But  what  can  I  do  when  she  looks  at  me  with  her  eyes 
like  stars  and — and —  He  waved  his  hands  hopelessly. 
"It's  mighty  decent  of  you,  but  understand  I  consider 
it  a  dastardly  trick  and  I'm  horribly  offended." 

"Exactly,  and  I  don't  blame  you,  but  your  sister  de 
serves  a  crown  for  her  royal  gift  of  youth  and  sweetness. 
As  for  being  offended,  since  you  are  not  one  of  the  Mafia, 
I  am  not  afraid." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Bernie,  "I  have  been  thinking 
about  this  Mafia  matter  ever  since  I  saw  you.  I'm  tre 
mendously  interested  and  I — I'm  beginning  to  feel  the 
dawning  of  a  civic  spirit.  Remarkable,  eh?  You  know 
I  haven't  many  interests,  and  I'd  like  to — to  take  a  hand 
in  running  down  these  miscreants.  I've  always  had  an 
ambition,  ever  since  I  was  a  child,  to  be  a —  Don't  laugh 
now.  This  is  a  confession.  I've  always  wanted  to  be  a — 
detective."  He  looked  very  grave,  and  at  the  same  time 
a  little  shamefaced.  "Do  you  suppose  Donnelly  could 
make  me  one?" 

"Well!  This  is  rather  startling,"  said  Blake,  with 
difficulty  restraining  a  desire  to  laugh. 

"I — I  can  wear  disguises  wonderfully  well,"  Bernie 
went  on,  wistfully.  "I  learned  when  I  was  in  college 
theatricals.  I  was  really  very  good.  And  you  see  I 
might  earn  a  lot  of  money  that  way;  I  understand  there 
are  tremendous  rewards  offered  for  train  -  robbers  and 
that  sort  of  people.  No  one  need  know,  of  course,  and  no 


THE    NET 

one  would  ever  suspect  me  of  being  a  minion  of  the 
law." 

"That's  true  enough.  But  I'm  afraid  detectives  in 
real  life  don't  wear  false  beards.  It's  a  pretty  mean  occu 
pation,  I  fancy.  Do  you  seriously  think  you  are — er — 
fitted  for  it?" 

"Heavens!  I'm  no  good  at  anything  else,  and  I'm 
perfectly  wonderful  at  worming  secrets  out  of  people. 
This  Mafia  matter  would  give  me  a  great  opportunity. 
I— think  I'll  try  it." 

"These  Italians  have  no  sense  of  humor,  you  know. 
Something  disagreeable  might  happen  if  you  went  prowling 
around  them." 

"Oh,  of  course  I'd  quit  if  they  discovered  my  intentions 
— my  game.  When  we  were  talking  of  such  things,  the 
other  day,  I  said  I  was  a  coward,  but  really  I'm  not.  I've 
a  frightful  temper  when  I'm  roused — really  fiendish. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've" — he  smiled  sheepishly  and 
tapped  his  slender,  high-arched  foot  with  his  rattan  cane — 
"I've  already  begun." 

Blake  settled  back  in  his  chair  without  a  word. 

"I'm  taking  Italian  lessons  from  Myra  Nell's  nurse, 
Miss  Fabrizi.  She's  a  very  superior  woman,  for  a  nurse, 
and  she  knows  all  about  the  Mafia.  Quite  an  inspiration, 
I  call  it,  thinking  of  her.  I'm  working  her  for  informa — 
for  a  clue."  He  winked  one  eye  gravely,  and  Norvin 
gasped.  Bernie  suddenly  seemed  very  secretive,  very 
different  from  his  usual  self.  It  was  the  first  time  Blake 
had  ever  seen  him  give  this  particular  facial  demonstra 
tion,  and  the  effect  was  much  as  if  some  benevolent  old 
lady  had  winked  brazenly. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed.     "I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"There  is  nothing  to  say,"  Mr.  Dreux  answered  in  a 
vastly  self-satisfied  tone.  "I'm  going  to  offer  my  services 
to  Donnelly — in  confidence,  of  course.  I'm  glad  you  in 
troduced  us,  for  otherwise  I'd  have  to  arrange  to  meet 

136 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

him  properly.  If  he  doesn't  want  me,  I'll  proceed  un 
aided." 

When  his  caller  had  gone  Blake  gave  way  to  the  hearty 
laughter  he  had  been  smothering,  dwelling  with  keen  en 
joyment  upon  the  probable  result  of  Bernie's  interview 
with  the  Chief.  Dan,  he  was  sure,  would  not  hurt  the 
little  man's  feelings,  so  he  felt  no  obligation  to  interfere. 

Although  he  was  expecting  to  hear  from  Donnelly  at 
any  moment  regarding  the  Narcone  matter,  it  was  not 
until  two  weeks  after  their  nocturnal  excursion  to  the 
Italian  quarter  that  the  Chief  came  to  see  him.  He  brought 
unexpected  news. 

"We've  had  a  run  of  luck,"  he  began.  "I've  verified 
the  information  in  that  letter  and  found  that  those  extra 
dition  papers  for  Narcone  are  really  in  New  York.  What's 
more,  there's  an  Italian  detective  there  on  another  matter, 
and  he's  ready  to  take  our  man  back  to  Sicily  with  him." 

"Really!" 

"Narcone,  it  seems,  was  in  New  York  for  a  year  before 
he  came  here;  that's  why  steps  were  taken  to  extradite 
him.  Then  he  evidently  got  suspicious  and  came  South. 
Anyhow,  the  plank  is  all  greased,  and  if  we  land  him  in  that 
city  he'll  go  back  to  Sicily." 

"I  see.  All  that's  necessary  is  to  invite  him  to  run  up 
there  and  be  arrested.  It  seems  to  me  you're  just  where 
you  were  two  weeks  ago,  Dan;  unfortunately,  this  doesn't 
happen  to  be  New  York,  and  you've  still  got  to  solve  the 
important  problem  of  getting  him  there." 

"I'm  going  to  kidnap  him,"  said  the  Chief,  quietly. 

"What?    You're  joking!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"But — kidnapping — it  isn't  done  any  more!  It's  not 
even  considered  the  thing  in  police  circles,  I  believe.  You'll 
be  stealing  children  next,  like  any  Mafioso." 

Donnelly  grinned.  "That's  where  I  got  the  idea. 
This  same  Narcone  is  mixed  up  in  the  Domenchino  case. 

137 


THE    NET 

The  kid  has  been  gone  nearly  a  month,  now,  but  the 
father  won't  help  us.  He  made  a  roar  at  the  start,  but 
they  evidently  got  to  him  and  now  he  declares  that  the 
boy  must  have  strayed  away  to  the  river-front  and  been 
drowned.  Well,  it  occurred  to  me  to  treat  that  Quatrone 
gang  to  some  of  its  own  medicine  by  stealing  their  ring 
leader." 

"There's  poetic  justice  in  the  idea — that  is,  if  Narcone 
was  really  connected  with  the  disappearance  of  the  child." 

"Oh,  he  was  connected  with  it  all  right.  Ordinary 
blackmail  was  getting  too  slow  for  the  outfit,  so  they  went 
after  a  good  ransom.  Now  that  old  Domenchino  has 
kicked  up  such  a  row,  they're  afraid  to  come  through,  and 
have  probably  murdered  the  child.  That's  what  he  fears, 
at  any  rate,  and  that's  why  he  won't  help  us." 

"It's  shocking!  But  tell  me,  is  this  plan  your  own,  or 
did  Bernie  Dreux  suggest  it?" 

Donnelly  laughed  silently. 

"So  you  knew  he'd  turned  fly  cop?  I  thought  I'd 
split  when  he  came  to  me." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  offend  him." 

"Oh,  not  at  all.  Those  little  milliners  are  mighty  sensi 
tive.  I  told  him  he  had  the  makings  of  another  Le  Coq, 
but  the  force  was  full.  I  suggested  that  he  work  on  the 
outside,  and  set  him  to  watching  a  certain  dago  fruit-stand 
on  Canal  Street." 

"Why  that  particular  stand?" 

"Because  it's  owned  by  one  of  our  men  and  he  can't 
come  to  any  harm  there.  He  reports  every  day." 

"But  Narcone —  Are  you  really  in  earnest  about  this 
scheme?" 

"I  am.  It's  our  only  chance  to  land  him,  and  I've  got 
to  accomplish  something  or  quit  drawing  my  salary. 
Here's  the  layout;  the  Pinkertons  have  an  operative  who 
knew  Sabella  in  New  York;  they  were  friends,  in  fact. 
This  fellow  arrived  here  two  hours  ago — calls  himself 

138 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

Corte.  He's  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  our  man 
and  explain  that  he  is  returning  to  New  York  in  a  week. 
The  day  he  sails  we  grab  Mr.  Narcone,  hustle  him  aboard 
ship,  and  Corte  will  see  to  the  rest.  If  it  works  right 
nobody  '11  know  anything  about  it  until  Narcone  is  at  sea, 
when  it  will  be  too  late  for  interference.  It's  old  stuff, 
but  it  '11  work." 

From  what  he  knew  of  the  Sicilian  bandit,  Blake  felt  a 
certain  doubt  as  to  the  practicability  of  this  plan,  yet  he 
was  relieved  to  learn  that  he  would  not  be  called  upon  to 
testify.  He  therefore  expressed  himself  as  gratified  at  the 
change  of  procedure. 

"It  was  partly  to  spare  you,"  the  Chief  replied,  "that 
I  decided  on  this  course.  I  want  you  to  help  me  though. ' ' 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  it  will  naturally  take  some  force;  Narcone 
won't  go  willingly.  I  want  you  to  help  me  take  him." 

Instantly  those  fears  which  had  been  lulled  in  Norvin's 
breast  leaped  into  turmoil ;  the  same  sick  surge  of  emotions 
rose,  and  he  felt  himself  quailing.  After  an  instant's  pause 
he  said: 

"I'll  act  any  part  you  cast  me  for,  but  don't  you  think 
it  is  work  for  trained  officers  like  you  and  this  Corte?" 

"That's  exactly  the  point.  Narcone  may  put  up  a 
fight,  and  I  have  more  confidence  in  you,  when  it  comes 
to  a  pinch,  than  in  any  man  I  know.  Corte's  job  is  to 
get  him  down  to  the  dock,  and  I  can't  ask  any  of  my  men 
to  take  a  hand  with  me,  for  it's — well,  not  exactly  regular. 
Besides,  I  may  need  a  witness."  Donnelly  hesitated. 
"If  I  do  need  one,  I'll  want  some  man  whose  word  will 
carry  more  weight  than  that  of  a  policeman.  You 
understand?"  He  leveled  his  blue  eyes  at  Blake  and  they 
looked  particularly  smoky  and  cold. 

"You  mean  the  Quatrones  may  try  to  break  you?" 

"Something  like  that." 

' '  Suppose  Narcone — er — resists  ?' ' 

139 


THE   NET 

Donnelly  shrugged.  "We  can't  very  well  kill  him. 
That's  what  makes  it  hard.  I  knew  you  had  as  much 
at  stake  as  I,  so  I  felt  sure  you'd  help." 

Blake  heard  himself  assuring  the  officer  that  he  had 
not  been  mistaken,  but  it  was  not  his  own  voice  that 
reached  his  ears,  and  when  his  caller  had  gone  he  found 
himself  sitting  limply  in  his  chair,  numb  with  horror  at 
his  own  temerity. 

As  he  looked  back  upon  it,  blaming  himself  for  his  too 
ready  agreement,  he  realized  that  several  mingling  emo 
tions  had  been  at  the  root  of  it.  In  the  first  place,  he  had 
said  "yes"  because  his  craven  spirit  had  screamed  "no" 
so  loudly.  He  felt  that  the  project  was  not  only  dangerous, 
but  impracticable,  yet  something,  which  he  chose  to  term 
his  over- will,  had  warned  him  that  he  must  not  upon  any 
account  give  way  to  fear  lest  he  weaken  his  already  insecure 
hold  upon  himself.  Again,  Donnelly  had  appealed  to  him 
in  a  way  hard  to  resist.  He  was  not  only  flattered  by  the 
Chief's  high  regard  for  his  courage,  but  grateful  to  him  for 
having  relieved  him  of  the  notoriety  and  possible  conse 
quences  of  a  public  proceeding.  Most  of  all,  perhaps,  his 
final  acquiescence  had  been  an  instinctive  reaction  of  rage 
and  disgust  at  the  part  of  his  nature  that  he  hated.  He 
struck  at  it  as  a  man  strikes  at  a  snake. 

But  now  that  he  was  irrevocably  pledged,  his  reason 
broke  and  fled,  leaving  him  a  prey  to  his  imagination. 

What,  he  wondered,  would  Narcone  do  when  he  saw 
his  life  at  stake — when  he  recognized  in  one  of  his  captors 
the  man  he  had  craved  to  kill  in  the  forest  of  Terranova? 
There  would  in  all  probability  be  a  physical  struggle — • 
perhaps  he  would  find  his  own  flabby  muscles  pitted  against 
the  mighty  thews  of  the  Sicilian  butcher.  At  the  thought 
he  felt  again  the  melting  horror  which  had  weakened  him 
on  that  unspeakable  night  when  Narcone  had  turned  from 
wiping  the  warm  blood  from  his  hands  to  glare  into  his 
face.  Blake  feared  that  the  memories  would  return  to 

140 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

betray  him  at  the  last  moment.  That  would  mean  that 
he  would  be  left  naked  of  the  reputation  he  had  guarded 
so  jealously — and  a  far  worse  calamity — that  his  rebellious 
nature  would  finally  triumph.  One  defeat,  he  knew, 
implied  total  overthrow. 

He  tried  to  reason  that  he  was  magnifying  the  danger — 
that  Narcone  would  be  easily  handled,  that  other  criminals 
as  desperate  had  been  taken  without  a  struggle,  but  the 
instant  such  grains  of  comfort  touched  the  heated  terrors 
in  his  mind  they  vanished  like  drops  of  water  sprinkled 
upon  an  incandescent  furnace. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  pledged,  and  he  knew  that  he 
would  go. 

He  had  barely  gotten  himself  under  a  semblance  of 
control,  two  days  later,  when  Donnelly  called  him  up  by 
telephone  to  advise  him  in  cautious  terms  that  affairs 
were  nearing  a  climax  and  to  warn  him  to  make  ready. 
"  This  served  to  throw  him  into  a  renewed  panic.  It 
required  a  tremendous  effort  to  concentrate  upon  his 
business  affairs,  and  it  took  the  genius  of  an  actor  to  carry 
him  through  the  inconsequent  details  of  his  every-day  life 
without  betrayal.  Alone,  at  home,  upon  the  crowded 
'Change,  in  deadly-dull  directors'  meetings,  that  sinister 
shadow  overhung  him.  These  long,  leaden  hours  of  sus 
pense  were  doing  what  nothing  else  had  been  able  to  do 
since  he  took  himself  definitely  in  hand.  They  were  harder 
to  bear  than  any  of  those  disciplinary  experiences  which 
had  turned  his  hair  white  and  burned  his  youth  to  an  ash. 

At  last  Donnelly  came. 

"Corte  has  framed  it  for  to-morrow,"  he  announced 
with  evident  satisfaction. 

"To-morrow?"  Norvin  echoed,  faintly. 

"Yes.  He's  sailing  on  the  Philadelphia  at  eleven  o'clock 
— no  stops  between  here  and  New  York.  They'll  be 
waiting  for  Narcone  at  Quarantine." 

"I'm  glad — it's  time  to  do  something." 

141 


THE   NET 

Donnelly  rubbed  his  palms  together  and  showed  his 
teeth  in  a  smile.  "Corte  says  he'll  have  him  at  the 
Cromwell  Line  docks  without  fail,  so  that  will  save  us 
grabbing  him  on  the  street  and  holding  him  until  sailing- 
time.  If  we  pull  it  off  quietly,  at  the  last  minute,  no 
body  '11  know  anything  about  it.  You'd  better  be  at  my 
office  by  nine,  in  case  anything  goes  wrong." 

"  You  may  count  on  me,"  Blake  answered  in  a  tone  that 
gave  no  hint  of  his  inward  flinching.  But  once  alone, 
he  found  that  his  nerves  would  not  allow  him  to  work.  He 
closed  his  desk  and  went  home.  When  the  heat  of  the 
afternoon  diminished  he  took  out  his  saddle-horse  and 
went  for  a  gallop,  thinking  in  this  way  to  blow  some  of 
the  tortured  fancies  out  of  his  mind,  but  he  did  not 
succeed. 

Despite  his  agitation,  he  ate  a  hearty  dinner — much 
as  a  condemned  man  devours  his  last  meal — but  he  could 
not  sleep.  All  night  he  alternately  tossed  in  his  bed  or 
paced  his  room  restlessly,  his  features  working,  his  body 
shivering. 

He  ate  breakfast,  however,  with  an  apparent  appetite 
that  delighted  his  colored  servant,  and  as  the  clock  struck 
nine  he  walked  into  Donnelly's  office,  smoking  a  cigar 
which  he  did  not  taste. 

"I  haven't  heard  anything  further  from  Corte,  so  we'll 
go  down  to  the  dock,"  the  Chief  informed  him. 

On  the  way  to  the  river-front,  Blake  continued  to  smoke 
silently,  giving  a  careful  ear  to  Donnelly's  final  directions. 
When  they  reached  their  destination  he  waited  while  Dan 
went  aboard  the  ship  in  search  of  the  captain. 

In  those  days,  rail  transportation  had  not  developed 
into  its  present  proportions,  and  New  Orleans  was  even 
more  interesting  as  a  shipping-point  than  now.  Along 
the  levee  stretched  rows  of  craft  from  every  port,  big 
black  ocean  liners,  barques  and  brigantines,  fruit  steamers 
from  the  tropics,  and  a  tremendous  flotilla  of  flat-nosed 

142 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

river  steamers  with  their  huge  tows  of  barges.  The 
cavernous  sheds  that  lined  the  embankment  echoed  to  a 
thunder  of  rumbling  trucks,  of  clanking  winches,  of  stamp 
ing  hoofs,  while  through  and  above  it  all  came  the  cries 
and  songs  of  a  multitude  of  roustabouts  and  deck-hands. 
Down  the  gangways  of  the  Philadelphia,  a  thin,  continuous 
line  of  dusky  truckmen  was  moving.  A  growing  chaos  of 
trunks  and  smaller  baggage  on  the  dock  indicated  that  her 
passenger-list  was  heavy. 

Blake  watched  the  shifting  scene  with  little  interest, 
now  and  then  casting  an  unseeing  eye  over  the  ramparts 
of  cotton  bales  near  by;  but  although  he  was  outwardly 
calm,  his  palms  were  cold  and  wet  and  his  mind  was 
working  with  a  panicky  swiftness. 

Donnelly  reappeared  with  the  assurance  that  all  was 
arranged  with  the  ship's  master,  and,  taking  their  stand 
where  they  could  observe  what  went  on,  they  settled  them 
selves  to  wait. 

Again  the  moments  dragged.  Again  Blake  fought  his 
usual  weary  battle.  He  envied  Donnelly  his  utter  im 
passivity,  for  the  officer  betrayed  no  more  feeling  than  as 
if  he  were  standing,  rod  in  hand,  waiting  for  a  fish  to  strike. 
An  hour  passed,  bringing  no  sign  of  their  men,  although  a 
stream  of  passengers  was  filing  aboard  and  the  piles  of 
baggage  were  diminishing.  Norvin  struggled  with  the  de 
sire  to  voice  his  misgivings,  which  were  taking  the  form  of 
hopes;  Donnelly  chewed  tobacco,  and  occasionally  spat  ac 
curately  at  a  knot-hole.  His  companion  watched  him 
curiously.  Then,  without  warning,  the  Chief  stirred,  and 
there  in  the  crowd  Norvin  suddenly  saw  the  tall  figure 
of  Gian  Narcone,  with  another  man,  evidently  a  Sicilian, 
beside  him. 

"That's  Corte,"  Donnelly  said,  quietly. 

The  two  watchers  mingled  with  the  crowd,  gradually 
drawing  closer  to  their  quarry.  But  it  seemed  that 
Narcone  refused  to  go  aboard  with  his  friend — at  any  rate, 

143 


THE    NET 

he  made  no  move  in  that  direction.  The  Philadelphia 
blew  a  warning  blast,  the  remaining  passengers  quickened 
their  movements,  there  was  but  little  baggage  left  now 
upon  the  deck,  and  still  the  two  Italians  stood  talking 
volubly.  Donnelly  waited  stolidly  near  by,  never  glancing 
at  his  man.  Blake  held  himself  with  an  iron  grip,  although 
his  heart-throbs  were  choking  him.  It  was  plain  that 
Corte  also  was  beginning  to  feel  the  strain,  and  Norvin 
began  to  fear  that  Donnelly  would  delay  too  long. 

At  last  the  Pinkerton  man  stooped  and  raised  his 
valise,  then  extended  his  hand  to  the  Mafioso.  Donnelly 
edged  closer. 

Blake  knew  that  the  moment  for  action  had  come,  and 
found  that  without  any  exercise  of  will-power  he  too  was 
closing  in.  His  mind  was  working  at  such  high  speed  that 
time  seemed  to  halt  and  wait.  Donnelly  was  within  arm's- 
length  of  Narcone  before  he  spoke;  then  he  said,  quietly, 
"Going  to  leave  the  city,  Sabella?" 

"Eh?"  The  Sicilian  started,  his  eyes  leaped  to  the 
speaker,  and  the  smile  died  from  his  heavy  features. 
Recognizing  the  officer,  however,  he  pulled  at  the  visor  of 
his  cap,  and  said,  brokenly:  "No,  no,  Signore.  My 
friend  goes." 

"Come,  now,"  the  Chief  said,  grimly.  "I  want  you  to 
tell  me  something  about  the  Domenchino  boy." 

Narcone  recoiled,  colliding  with  Blake,  who  instantly 
locked  his  arm  within  his  own.  Simultaneously  Donnelly 
seized  the  other  wrist,  repeating,  "You  know  who  stole 
the  little  Domenchino." 

The  tension  which  had  leaped  into  the  giant  muscles 
died  away;  Narcone  shrugged  his  shoulders,  crying,  ex 
citedly,  in  his  native  tongue : 

"Before  God  you  wrong  me." 

It  was  the  instant  for  which  his  captor  had  planned; 
the  ruse  had  worked;  there  was  a  deft  movement  on 
Donnelly's  part,  something  snapped  metallically,  and  the 

144 


THE    KIDNAPPING 

manacles  of  the  law  were  upon  the  murderer  of  Mattel 
Savigno. 

It  had  all  been  accomplished  quietly,  quickly;  even 
those  standing  near  by  hardly  noticed  it,  and  those  who 
did  were  unaware  of  the  significance  of  the  arrest.  But 
once  his  man  was  safely  ironed,  the  Chief's  manner 
changed,  and  in  the  next  instant  the  prisoner  caught,  per 
haps  from  the  eye  of  Corte,  the  stool-pigeon,  some  fleeting 
hint  that  he  had  been  betrayed.  Following  that  came  the 
suspicion  that  he  had  been  seized  not  for  complicity  in 
the  Domenchino  affair,  but  for  something  far  more 
significant.  With  a  furious,  snarling  cry  he  flung  himself 
backward  and  raised  his  manacled  hands  to  strike. 

But  it  was  too  late  for  effective  resistance.  They  took 
him  across  the  gang-plank,  screaming,  struggling,  biting 
like  a  maddened  animal,  while  curious  passengers  rushed 
to  the  rails  above  and  stared  at  them,  and  another  crowd 
yelled  and  hooted  derisively  from  the  dock. 

A  moment  later  they  were  in  Corte's  stateroom,  panting, 
grim,  triumphant,  with  their  prisoner's  back  against  the 
wall  and  their  work  done. 

Now  that  Narcone  realized  the  deception  that  had 
been  practised  upon  him  he  began  to  curse  his  betrayer 
with  incredible  violence  and  fluency.  As  yet  he  had  no 
idea  whither  he  was  being  taken,  nor  for  which  of  his  many 
crimes  he  had  been  apprehended.  But  it  seemed  as  if  his 
rage  would  strangle  him.  With  the  unrestraint  of  a 
lifetime  of  lawlessness  he  poured  out  his  passion  in  a 
terrifying  rush  of  vilification,  anathema,  and  threat.  He 
hurled  himself  against  the  walls  of  the  stateroom  as  if  to 
burst  his  way  out,  and  they  were  forced  to  clamp  leg-irons 
upon  him.  When  Donnelly  had  regained  his  breath  he 
savagely  commanded  the  fellow  to  be  silent,  but  Narcone 
only  shifted  his  fury  from  his  betrayer  to  the  Chief  of 
Police. 

To  the  Pinkerton  operative  Donnelly  said,  gratefully: 
10  145 


THE    NET 

"That  was  good  work,  Corte.  Wire  me  from  New 
York.  We'll  have  to  go  now,  for  the  ship  is  clearing." 

"Wait!"  said  Blake;  then  pushing  himself  forward,  he 
addressed  the  captive  in  Italian.  "Where  is  Belisario 
Cardi?" 

The  question  came  like  a  gunshot,  silencing  the  outlaw 
as  if  with  a  gag.  His  bloodshot  eyes  searched  his  ques 
tioner's  face;  his  lips,  wet  with  slaver,  were  snarling  like 
those  of  a  dog,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"Where  is  Belisario  Cardi?"  came  the  question  for  a 
second  time. 

"I  do  not  know  him,"  said  the  Sicilian,  sullenly.  "I 
am  Vito  Sabella,  an  honest  man — 

"You  are  Gian  Narcone,  the  butcher,  of  San  Sebas- 
tiano,"  said  Blake.  "You  are  going  back  to  Sicily  to  be 
hanged  for  the  murder  of  Martel  Savigno,  Count  of  Marti- 
nello,  and  his  man  Ricardo." 

"Bah!"  cried  the  prisoner,  loudly.  "I  am  not  this 
Narcone  of  which  you  speak.  I  do  not  know  him.  I 
am  Vito  Sabella,  a  poor  man,  I  swear  it  by  the  body  of 
Christ.  I  have  never  seen  this  Cardi.  God  will  punish 
those  who  persecute  me." 

Blake  leaned  forward  until  his  face  was  close  to  Nar- 
cone's. 

"Look  closely,"  he  said.  "Have  you  ever  seen  me 
before?" 

They  stared  at  each  other,  eye  to  eye,  and  the  Sicilian 
nodded. 

"You  were  drinking  chianti  in  the  cafe  on  Royal  Street, 
but  I  swear  to  you  I  am  an  innocent  man  and  I  curse 
those  who  betray  me." 

"Think!  Do  you  recall  a  night  four  years  ago?  You 
were  waiting  beside  the  road  above  Terranova.  There 
was  a  feast  of  all  the  country  people  at  the  castello,  and 
finally  three  men  came  riding  upward  through  the  dark 
ness.  One  of  them  was  singing,  for  it  was  the  eve  of  his 

146 


THE   KIDNAPPING 

marriage,  and  you  knew  him  by  his  voice  as  the  Count  of 
Martinello.  Do  you  remember  what  happened  then? 
Think!  You  were  called  Narcone  the  Butcher,  and  you 
boasted  loudly  of  your  skill  with  the  knife  as  you  dried 
your  hands  upon  a  wisp  of  grass.  You  left  two  men  in 
the  road  that  night,  but  the  third  returned  to  Terranova. 
I  ask  you  again  if  you  have  ever  seen  my  face." 

The  effect  of  these  words  was  extraordinary.  The  fury 
died  from  the  prisoner's  eyes,  his  coarse  lips  fell  apart, 
the  blood  receded  from  his  purple  cheeks,  he  shrank  and 
shivered  loosely.  In  the  silence  they  could  hear  the  breath 
wheezing  hoarsely  in  his  throat.  Blake  made  a  final 
appeal. 

"They  will  take  you  back  to  Sicily,  to  Colonel  Neri 
and  his  carbineers,  and  you  will  hang.  Before  it  is  too 
late,  tell  me,  where  is  Belisario  Cardi?" 

Narcone  moistened  his  livid  lips  and  glared  malignantly 
at  his  inquisitors.  But  he  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
speak. 

"Well,  that  was  easy,"  said  Donnelly,  when  the  Phila 
delphia  had  cast  off  and  the  two  friends  were  once  more 
back  in  the  rush  and  bustle  of  the  water-front. 

Norvin  agreed.  "And  yet  it  seemed  a  bit  unfair,"  he 
remarked.  "There  were  three  of  us,  you  know.  If  he 
were  not  what  he  is,  I'd  feel  somewhat  ashamed  of  my  part 
in  the  affair." 

Donnelly  showed  his  contempt  for  such  quixotic  views 
by  an  expressive  grunt.  "You  can  take  the  next  one 
single-handed,  if  you  prefer.  Perhaps  it  may  be  your 
friend  Cardi." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Norvin,  gravely.  "  If  that  should  hap 
pen,  I  should  feel  that  I  had  paid  my  debt  in  full." 

"I'd  like  a  chance  to  sweat  Narcone,"  growled  the 
Chief,  regretfully.  "  I'd  find  Cardi,  or  I'd—"  He  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief.  "Oh,  well,  we've  done  a  good  day's 
work  as  it  is.  I  hope  the  papers  don't  get  hold  of  it." 

147 


THE    NET 

But  the  papers  did  get  hold  of  it,  and  with  an  effect 
which  neither  man  had  anticipated.  Had  they  foreseen 
the  consequences  of  this  morning's  work,  had  they  even 
remotely  guessed  at  the  forces  they  had  unwittingly  set  in 
motion,  they  would  have  lost  something  of  their  com 
placency.  Throughout  the  greater  part  of  the  city  that 
night  the  kidnapping  of  Vito  Sabella  became  the  subject 
of  excited  comment.  In  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Phillip 
Street  it  was  received  in  an  ominous  silence. 


XII 

LA   MAFIA 

THE  surprising  ease  with  which  the  capture  of  Narcone 
had  been  effected  gratified  Norvin  Blake  immensely,  for 
it  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  jeer  at  the  weaker  side  of 
his  nature.  He  told  himself  that  the  incident  went  to 
prove  what  his  saner  judgment  was  forever  saying — 
that  fear  depends  largely  upon  the  power  of  visualization, 
that  danger  is  real  only  in  so  far  as  the  mind  sees  it.  More 
over,  the  admiration  his  conduct  aroused  was  balm  to  his 
soul.  His  friends  congratulated  him  warmly,  agreeing 
that  he  and  Donnelly  had  taken  the  only  practical  means 
to  rid  the  community  of  a  menace. 

In  our  Southern  and  Western  States,  where  individual 
character  stands  for  more  than  it  does  in  the  over-legalized 
communities  of  the  North  and  East,  men  are  concerned 
not  so  much  with  red-tape  as  with  effects,  and  hence  there 
was  little  disposition  to  criticize. 

Blake  was  amazed  to  discover  what  a  strong  public 
sentiment  the  Italian  outrages  had  awakened.  New 
Orleans,  it  seemed,  was  not  only  indignant,  but  alarmed. 

His  self-satisfaction  received  a  sudden  shock,  however, 
when  Donnelly  strolled  into  his  office  a  few  days  later, 
and  without  a  word  laid  a  letter  upon  his  desk.  It  ran 
as  follows: 

DANIEL  DONNELLY,  Chief  of  Police, 

NEW  ORLEANS,  LA. 

DEAR  SIR, — God  be  praised  that  Gian  Narcone  has  gone  to 
his  punishment!  But  you  have  incurred  the  everlasting 

149 


THE    NET 

enmity  of  the  Mala  Vita,  or  what  you  term  La  Mafia,  and  it 
has  been  decided  that  your  life  must  pay  for  his.  You  are  to  be 
killed  next  Thursday  night  at  the  Red  Wing  Club.  I  cannot 
name  those  upon  whom  the  choice  has  fallen,  for  that  is  veiled 
in  secrecy. 

I  pray  that  you  will  not  ignore  this  warning,  for  if  you  do 
your  blood  will  rest  upon,  ONE  WHO  KNOWS. 

P.  S.    Destroy  this  letter. 

The  color  had  receded  from  Norvin's  face  when  he 
looked  up  to  meet  the  smoke-blue  eyes  of  his  friend. 

"God!"  he  exclaimed.  "This — looks  bad,  doesn't 
it?" 

"You  think  it's  on  the  level?" 

"Don't  you?" 

Donnelly  shrugged.  "I'm  blessed  if  I  know.  It  may 
have  come  from  the  very  gang  I'm  after.  It  strikes  me 
that  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Narcone,  but  didn't  know 
just  how  to  go  about  it,  so  used  me  for  an  instrument. 
Now  they  want  to  scare  me  off." 

"But — he  names  the  very  place;  the  very  hour." 

"Sure — everything  except  the  very  dago  who  is  to  do 
the  killing!  If  he  knew  where  and  when,  why  wouldn't 
he  know  how  and  who?" 

"I — that  sounds  reasonable,  and  yet — you  are  not 
going  to  the  Red  Wing  Club  any  more,  are  you?" 

"Why  not?  I've  got  until  Thursday  and — I  like  their 
coffee.  Here  is  the  other  letter,  by  the  way."  Donnelly 
produced  the  first  communication.  The  paper  was  iden 
tical  and  the  type  appeared  to  be  the  same.  Beyond  this 
Norvin  could  make  out  nothing. 

"Well,"  Dan  exclaimed,  when  they  had  exhausted  their 
conjectures,  "they've  set  their  date  and  I  reckon 
they  won't  change  it,  so  I'm  going  to  eat  dinner  to-night 
at  the  Red  Wing  Club  as  usual,  just  to  see  what  happens." 

After  a  brief  hesitation  Norvin  said,  "I'd  like  to  join 
you,  if  you  don't  mind." 

150 


LA   MAFIA 

Donnelly  shook  his  gray  head  doubtfully.  "I  don't 
think  you'd  better.  This  may  be  on  the  square." 

"I  think  it  is,  and  therefore  I  intend  to  see  you  through." 

"Suit  yourself,  of  course.  I'd  like  to  have  you  go  along, 
but  I  don't  want  to  get  you  into  any  fuss." 

Seven  o'clock  that  evening  found  the  two  friends  dining 
at  the  little  cafe  in  the  foreign  quarter,  but  they  were 
seated  at  one  of  the  corner  tables  and  their  backs  were 
toward  the  wall. 

"I've  had  my  reasons  for  eating  here,  and  it  wasn't 
altogether  the  coffee,  either,"  the  elder  man  confessed. 

"I  suspected  as  much,"  Norvin  told  him.  "At  least  I 
couldn't  detect  anything  remarkable  about  this  Rio." 

"You  see,  it's  a  favorite  hang-out  of  the  better  Italian 
class,  and  I've  been  working  it  carefully  for  a  year." 

"What  have  you  discovered?" 

"Not  much,  and  yet  a  great  deal.  I've  made  friends, 
for  one  thing,  and  that's  considerable.  Here  comes  one 
now.  You  know  him,  don't  you?"  Dan  indicated  a  thick- 
necked,  squarely  built  Italian  who  had  entered  at  the 
moment.  "That's  Caesar  Maraffi." 

Norvin  regarded  the  new-comer  with  interest,  for  Maraffi 
stood  for  what  is  best  among  his  Americanized  country 
men.  Moreover,  if  rumor  spoke  true,  he  was  one  of  the 
richest  and  most  influential  foreigners  in  the  city.  In 
answer  to  the  Chief's  invitation  he  approached  and 
seated  himself  at  the  table,  accepting  his  introduction  to 
Blake  with  a  smile  and  a  gracious  word. 

"Ah!  It  is  my  first  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  the 
service  you  have  done  us  in  arresting  that  hateful  bri 
gand,"  he  began. 

"Did  you  know  the  fellow?"  Norvin  queried. 

"Very  well  indeed." 

"Maraffi  knows  a  whole  lot,  if  he'd  only  open  up. 
He's  a  Mafioso  himself — eh,  Caesar?"  The  Chief  laughed. 

"No,  no!"  the  other  exclaimed,  casting  a  cautious 
" 


THE    NET 

glance  over  his  shoulder.  "I  tell  you  everything  I  learn. 
But  as  for  this  Sabella — I  thought  him  a  trifle  sullen, 
perhaps,  but  an  honest  fellow." 

"You  don't  really  think  there  has  been  any  mistake?" 

"Eh?  How  could  that  be  possible?  Did  not  Signore 
Blake  remember  him?"  Norvin  was  about  to  disclaim 
his  part  in  the  affair,  but  the  speaker  ran  on: 

"I  fear  you  must  regard  all  us  Italians  as  Mafiosi, 
Signore  Blake,  but  it  is  not  so.  No!  We  are  honest 
people,  but  we  are  terrorized  by  a  few  bad  men.  We  do 
not  know  them,  Signore.  We  are  robbed,  we  are  black 
mailed,  and  if  we  resist,  behold!  something  unspeak 
able  befalls  us.  We  do  not  know  who  deals  the  blow,  we 
merely  know  that  we  are  marked  and  that  some  day  we — 
are  buried."  Maruffi  shrugged  his  square  shoulders  ex 
pressively. 

"Do  you  suffer  in  your  business?"  Norvin  asked. 

"Per  Dio!  Who  does  not?  I  have  adopted  your  free 
country,  Signore,  but  it  is  not  so  free  as  my  own.  Male- 
detto!  You  have  too  damned  many  laws  in  this  free 
America." 

Maruffi  spoke  hesitatingly,  and  yet  with  intense  feeling; 
his  black  eyes  glittered  wickedly,  and  it  was  plain  that  he 
sounded  the  note  of  revolt  which  was  rising  from  the  law- 
abiding  Italian  element.  His  appearance  bore  out  his 
reputation  for  leadership,  for  he  was  big  and  black  and 
dour,  and  he  gave  the  impression  of  unusual  force. 

"Your  home  is  in  Sicily,  is  it  not?"  Blake  inquired. 

"Si!    I  come  from  Palermo." 

"I  have  been  there." 

"I  remember,"  said  Maruffi,  calmly. 

Donnelly  broke  in,  "What  do  you  hear  regarding  our 
capture  of  Sabella?" 

"Eh?" 

"  How  do  they  take  it  ?" 

Again  Maruffi  shrugged.  "How  can  they  take  it? 

152 


LA    MAFIA 

My  good  countrymen  are  delighted;  others,  perhaps,  not  so 
well  pleased." 

"But  Sabella  has  friends.  I  suppose  they've  marked 
me  for  revenge?" 

"  No  doubt !  But  what  can  they  do  ?  You  are  the  law. 
With  a  private  citizen,  with  me,  for  instance,  it  would  be 
different.  My  wife  would  prepare  herself  for  widowhood. ' ' 

"How's  that?    You're  not  married,"  said  Donnelly. 

"Not  yet.     But  I  have  plans.     A  fine  Sicilian  girl." 

"Good!     I  congratulate  you." 

"Speaking  of  Sabella,"  Blake  interposed,  curiously, 
"I  had  a  hand  in  taking  him,  and  I'm  a  private  citizen." 

"True!"  Maruffi  regarded  him  with  his  impenetrable 
eyes. 

"You  predict  trouble  for  me,  then?" 

"I  predict  nothing.  We  say  in  my  country  that  no 
one  escapes  the  Mafia.  No  doubt  we  are  timid.  You 
are  an  American,  you  are  not  easily  frightened.  But  tell 
me  " — he  turned  to  the  Chief  of  Police — "who  is  to  follow 
this  brigand?  There  are  others  quite  as  black  as  he,  if 
they  were  known." 

"No  doubt!  But,  unfortunately,  I  don't  know  them. 
Why  don't  you  help  me  out,  Caesar?" 

"If  I  could!     You  have  no  suspicions,  eh?" 

"Plenty  of  suspicions,  but  no  proofs." 

Maruffi  turned  back  to  Norvin,  saying:  "So,  you 
identified  the  murderer  of  your  friend  Savigno?  Madonna 
mia !  You  have  a  memory !  But  were  you  not — afraid  ?" 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"Ah!  You  are  American,  as  I  said  before;  you  fear 
nothing.  But  it  was  Belisario  Cardi  who  killed  the 
Conte  of  Martinello." 

"Belisario  Cardi  is  only  a  name,"  said  Norvin,  guardedly. 

"True!"  Maruffi  agreed.  "Being  a  Palermitan  myself, 
he  is  real  to  me,  but,  as  you  say,  nobody  knows." 

He  rose  and  shook  hands  cordially  with  both  men. 

153 


THE    NET 

When  he  had  joined  the  group  of  Italians  at  a  near-by 
table,  Donnelly  said: 

"There's  the  whitest  dago  in  the  city.  I  thought  he 
might  be  the  'One  Who  Knows,'  but  I  reckon  I  was 
mistaken.  He  could  help  me,  though,  if  he  dared." 

"Have  you  confided  in  him?" 

' '  Lord,  no !  I  don't  trust  any  of  them.  Say !  The  more 
I  think  about  that  letter,  the  more  I  think  it's  a  bluff." 

"You  can't  afford  to  ignore  it." 

"Of  course  not.  I'll  plant  O'Connell  and  another  man 
outside  on  Thursday  night  and  see  if  anything  suspicious 
turns  up,  but  I'll  take  my  dinner  elsewhere." 

The  two  men  had  finished  their  meal  when  Bernie 
Dreux  strolled  in  and  took  the  seat  which  Maruffi  had 
vacated. 

"Well,  how  goes  your  detecting,  Bernie?"  Norvin 
inquired. 

"Hist!"  breathed  the  little  man  so  sharply  that  his 
hearers  started.  He  winked  mysteriously  and  they  saw 
that  he  was  bursting  with  important  tidings.  "There's 
something  doing!" 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  the  Chief.  But  Mr.  Dreux 
answered  nothing.  Instead  he  lit  a  cigarette,  and  as  he 
raised  the  match  looked  guardedly  into  a  mirror  behind 
Donnelly's  chair. 

"I'm  glad  you  took  this  table,"  he  began  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  always  sit  where  I  can  get  a  flash." 

"A  what?"  queried  the  astonished  Blake. 

"Pianissimo  with  that  talk!"  cautioned  the  speaker. 
"You'll  tip  him  off." 

"Tip  who?"  Donnelly  breathed. 

"My  man!  He's  one  of  the  gang.  Do  you  see  that 
fellow — that  wop  next  to  Cassar  Maruffi?"  Bernie  did  not 
lower  his  eyes  from  the  mirror,  "the  third  from  the 
left." 

"Sure!" 

154 


LA    MAFIA 

"Well!"  triumphantly. 

"Well?" 

"That  is  he." 

"That's  who?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"What  the—" 

"He's  one  of  'em,  that's  all  I  know.  I've  been  on  him 
for  a  week.  I've  trailed  him  everywhere.  He  has  an 
accomplice — a  woman!" 

The  Chief's  face  underwent  a  remarkable  change. 
"Are  you  sure?"  he  whispered,  eagerly. 

"It's  a  cinch!  He  comes  to  the  fruit-stand  every  day. 
I  think  he's  after  blackmail,  but  I'm  not  sure." 

"Good!"  Dan  exclaimed.  "I  want  you  to  trail  him 
wherever  he  goes,  and,  above  all,  watch  the  woman. 
Now  tear  back  to  your  banana  rookery  or  you'll  miss 
something.  Better  have  a  drink  first,  though." 

"I'll  go  you;  it's  tough  work  on  the  nerves.  I'm  all 
upset." 

"I  thought  you  never  drank  whiskey,"  Norvin  said, 
still  amazed  at  the  extraordinary  transformation  in  his 
friend. 

"I  don't  as  a  rule,  it  kippers  my  stomach;  but  it  gives 
me  the  courage  of  a  lion." 

Donnelly  nodded  with  satisfaction.  ' '  Don't  get  pickled, 
but  keep  your  nerve.  Remember,  I'm  depending  on  you." 

Dreux's  slender  form  writhed  and  shuddered  as  he 
swallowed  the  liquor,  but  his  eyes  were  shining  when  he 
rose  to  go.  "I'm  glad  I'm  making  good,"  said  he.  "If 
anything  happens  to  me,  keep  your  eye  skinned  for  that 
fellow;  there's  dirty  work  afoot." 

When  he  had  gone  Donnelly  stuck  his  napkin  into  his 
mouth  to  still  his  laughter.  "  '  There's  dirty  work  afoot,'  " 
he  quoted  in  a  strangling  voice.  "Can  you  beat  that?" 

"I — can't  believe  my  senses.  Why,  Bernie's  actually 
getting  tough!  Who  is  this  fellow  he's  trailing?" 


THE    NET 

"That?  That's  Joe  Poggi,  the  owner  of  the  fruit- 
stand.  He's  my  best  dago  detective,  and  I  sent  him  here 
to-night  in  case  anything  blew  off.  The  woman  is  his 
wife — lovely  lady,  too.  'Blackmail!'  Oh,  Lord!  I'll 
have  to  tell  Poggi  about  this.  I'll  have  to  tell  him  he's 
being  shadowed,  too,  or  he'll  stop  suddenly  on  the  street 
some  day  and  Bernie  will  run  into  him  from  behind  and 
break  his  nose." 

Thursday  night  passed  without  incident.  Donnelly 
set  a  watch  upon  the  Red  Wing  Club,  but  nothing  oc 
curred  to  give  the  least  color  to  the  written  warning.  In 
the  course  of  a  fortnight  he  had  well-nigh  forgotten  it,  and 
when  a  third  letter  came  he  was  less  than  ever  inclined 
to  believe  it  genuine. 

"You  forestalled  the  first  attempt  upon  your  life," 
wrote  the  informant,  "but  another  will  be  made.  You 
are  to  be  shot  at  Police  Headquarters  some  night  next 
week.  Your  desk  stands  just  inside  a  window  which 
opens  upon  the  street.  A  fight  will  occur  at  the  corner 
near  by  and  during  the  disturbance  an  assassin  will  fire 
upon  you  out  of  the  darkness,  then  disappear  in  the 
confusion.  Do  not  treat  this  warning  lightly  or  I  swear 
that  you  will  repent  it. 

"ONE  WHO  KNOWS." 

Donnelly  showed  this  to  Blake,  saying,  sourly,  "You 
see.  It's  just  as  I  told  you.  They're  trying  to  run  me 
out." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  move  my  desk,  for  one  thing,  then  I'm 
going  to  run  down  this  writer.  O'Connell  is  going  through 
the  stationery-stores  now,  trying  to  match  the  water-mark 
on  the  paper.  The  post-office  is  on  the  lookout  for  the 
next  letter  and  will  try  to  find  which  mail-box  it  is  dropped 
into." 

156 


LA    MAFIA 

"Then  you  think  there  will  be  other  letters  to  follow 
this  one?" 

"Certainly!  When  they  see  that  I've  moved  away 
from  that  window  they'll  think  they've  got  me  going, 
then  I'll  be  warned  of  another  plot,  and  another,  and 
another.  It  might  work  with  some  people."  The  speak 
er's  lips  curled  in  a  wintry  smile. 

"You  no  longer  think  it  came  from  one  of  the  Pallozzo 
gang?" 

"No!  There's  nobody  in  the  outfit  who  can  write  a 
letter  like  that.  It's  from  the  Mafia." 

"How  can  you  say  that  when  the  same  writer  betrayed 
Narcone?" 

"Oh,  I've  asked  myself  the  same  question,"  Donnelly 
answered  with  a  trace  of  exasperation,  "and  I  can't 
answer  it  unless  that  was  merely  a  case  of  revenge. 
Take  it  from  me,  I'll  get  another  letter  inside  of  ten 
days.  See  if  I  don't." 

True  to  his  prediction,  the  tenth  day  brought  another 
warning.  The  writer  advised  him  that  his  enemies  had 
changed  their  plans  once  more,  but  would  strike, when  the 
first  opportunity  offered.  As  to  where  or  when  this 
would  occur,  no  information  was  given.  The  Chief  was 
merely  urged  in  the  strongest  terms  to  remove  himself 
beyond  the  possibility  of  danger. 

Naturally  the  recipient  took  this  as  proof  positive 
that  the  whole  affair  was  no  more  than  a  weak  attempt  to 
frighten  him.  Unfortunately,  the  postal  authorities  could 
not  determine  where  the  letter  had  been  mailed,  and 
O'Connell  reported  that  the  paper  on  which  it  was  written 
was  of  a  variety  in  common  use.  There  seemed  to  be 
little  hope  of  tracing  the  matter  back  to  its  source,  so 
Donnelly  dismissed  the  whole  affair  from  his  mind  and 
went  about  his  duties  undisturbed. 

Norvin  Blake,  however,  could  not  bring  himself  to  take 
the  same  view.  As  usual,  he  attributed  his  fears  to 


THE    NET 

imagination,  yet  they  preyed  upon  him  so  constantly 
that  he  was  forced  to  heed  them.  His  one  frightful  ex 
perience  with  La  Mafia  had  marked  him,  it  seemed,  like 
some  prenatal  influence,  and  now  the  more  he  dwelt  upon 
the  subject,  the  more  his  apprehension  quickened.  He 
was  ashamed  to  confess  to  Donnelly,  and  at  the  same  time 
he  was  loath  to  allow  the  Chief  to  expose  himself  un 
necessarily.  Therefore  he  made  it  a  point  to  be  with  him 
as  much  as  possible.  This,  of  course,  involved  a  con 
siderable  risk  to  himself,  and  he  recalled  with  misgiving 
what  Cassar  Maruffi  had  said  that  night  in  the  Red  Wing 
Club.  Donnelly  alone  had  been  warned,  but  that  did  not 
argue  that  vengeance  would  be  confined  to  him. 

October  had  come;  the  lazy  heat  of  summer  had  passed 
and  New  Orleans  was  awakening  under  its  magic  winter 
climate.  The  piny,  breeze-swept  Gulf  resorts  had 
emptied  their  summer  colonies  cityward,  the  social 
season  had  begun. 

The  preparations  for  the  great  February  Carnival  were 
nearing  completion,  and  Blake  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  Myra  Nell  Warren  was  to  realize  her  heart's 
desire.  He  had  forced  a  loan  upon  Bernie  sufficient  to 
meet  the  requirements  of  any  Queen,  and  had  spent 
several  delightful  evenings  with  the  girl  herself,  amused 
by  her  plans  of  royal  conquest. 

It  was  like  a  tonic  to  be  with  her.  Norvin  invariably 
parted  from  her  with  a  feeling  of  optimism  and  a  gayety 
quite  reasonless;  he  had  no  fears,  no  apprehensions;  the 
universe  was  peopled  with  sprites  and  fairies,  the  morrow 
was  a  glad  adventure  full  of  merriment  and  promise. 

He  was  in  precisely  such  a  mood  one  drizzly  Wednesday 
night  after  having  made  an  inexcusably  long  call  upon  her. 
Nothing  whatever  had  occurred  to  put  him  in  this  agree 
able  humor,  yet  he  went  homeward  humming  as  blithely 
as  a  barefoot  boy  in  springtime. 

158 


LA    MAFIA 

As  he  neared  the  neighborhood  in  which  Donnelly 
lived  he  decided  to  drop  in  on  him  for  a  few  moments  and 
smoke  a  cigar.  Business  had  lately  kept  him  away  from 
the  Chief,  and  he  felt  a  bit  guilty. 

But  Donnelly  had  either  retired  early  or  else  he  had 
not  returned  from  Headquarters,  for  his  windows  were 
dark,  and  Norvin  retraced  his  steps,  a  trifle  disappointed. 
In  front  of  a  cobbler's  shop,  across  the  street,  several 
men  were  talking,  and  as  he  glanced  in  their  direction  the 
door  behind  them  opened,  allowing  a  stream  of  light  to 
pour  forth.  He  recognized  Larubio,  the  old  Italian  shoe 
maker  himself,  and  he  was  on  the  point  of  inquiring  if 
Donnelly  had  come  home,  but  thought  better  of  it. 

Larubio  and  his  companions  were  idling  beneath  the 
wooden  awning  or  shed  which  extended  over  the  sidewalk, 
and  in  the  open  doorway,  briefly  silhouetted  against  the 
yellow  light,  Blake  noted  a  man  clad  in  a  shining  rubber 
coat.  Although  the  picture  was  fleeting,  it  caught  his 
attention. 

The  thought  occurred  to  him  that  these  men  were 
Italians,  and  therefore  possible  Mafiosi,  but  his  mood 
was  too  optimistic  to  permit  of  silly  suspicions.  To-night 
the  Mafia  seemed  decidedly  unreal  and  indefinite. 

He  found  himself  smiling  again  at  the  memory  of  an 
argument  in  which  he  had  been  worsted  by  Myra  Nell. 
He  had  taken  her  a  most  elaborate  box  of  chocolates  and 
she  had  gleefully  promised  to  consume  at  least  half  of  them 
that  very  night  after  retiring.  He  had  remonstrated  at 
such  an  unhygienic  procedure,  whereupon  she  had  con 
fessed  to  a  secret,  ungovernable  habit  of  eating  candy  in 
bed.  He  had  argued  that  the  pernicious  practice  was  sure 
to  wreck  her  digestion  and  ruin  her  teeth,  but  she  had  con 
founded  him  utterly  by  displaying  twin  rows  as  sound 
as  pearls,  as  white  and  regular  as  rice  kernels.  Her  diges 
tion,  he  had  to  confess,  was  that  of  a  Shetland  pony,  and 
he  had  been  forced  to  fall  back  upon  an  unconvincing 

159 


THE    NET 

prophecy  of  a  toothless  and  dyspeptic  old  age.  He  pic 
tured  her  at  this  moment  propped  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
great  mahogany  four-poster,  all  lace  and  ruffles  and  rib 
bons,  her  wayward  hair  in  adorable  confusion  about  her 
face,  as  she  pawed  over  the  sweets  and  breathed  ecstatic 
blessings  upon  his  name. 

Near  the  corner  he  stumbled  over  a  boy  hiding  in  the 
shadows.  Then  as  he  turned  north  on  Rampart  Street 
he  ran  plump  into  Donnelly  and  O'Connell. 

"I  just  came  from  your  house,"  he  told  Dan.  "I 
thought  I'd  drop  in  and  smoke  one  of  your  bad  cigars. 
Is  there  anything  new?" 

"Not  much!  I've  had  a  hard  day  and  there  was  a 
Police  Board  meeting  to-night.  I'm  fagged  out." 

"No  more  letters,  eh?" 

"No.  But  I've  heard  that  Sabella  is  safe  in  Sicily. 
That  means  his  finish.  I'll  have  something  else  to  tell  you 
in  a  day  or  so;  something  about  your  other  friend,  Cardi." 

"No!    Really?" 

"If  what  I  suspect  is  true,  it  '11  be  a  sensation.  I 
can't  credit  the  thing  myself,  that's  why  I  don't  want  to 
say  anything  just  yet.  I'm  all  up  in  the  air  over  it." 

A  moment  later  the  three  men  separated,  Donnelly  and 
O'Connell  turning  toward  their  respective  homes,  Blake 
continuing  his  way  toward  the  heart  of  the  city. 

But  the  Chief's  words  had  upset  Norvin's  complacency. 
His  line  of  thought  was  changed  and  he  found  himself 
once  more  dwelling  upon  the  tragedy  which  had  left  such 
a  mark  upon  his  life.  Martel  had  been  the  finest,  the 
cleanest  fellow  he  had  ever  known;  his  life,  so  full  of 
promise,  had  just  begun,  and  yet  he  had  been  ruthlessly 
stricken  down.  Norvin  shuddered  at  the  memory.  He 
saw  the  road  to  Martinello  stretching  out  ahead  of  him 
like  a  ghost-gray  canyon  walled  with  gloom;  he  heard 
the  creaking  of  saddles,  the  muffled  thud  of  hoofs  in  the 
dust  of  the  causeway,  the  song  of  a  lover,  then — 

1 60 


LA    MAFIA 

Blake  halted  suddenly,  listening.  ~  From  somewhere 
not  far  away  came  the  sound  again;  it  was  a  gunshot, 
deadened  by  the  blanket  of  mist  and  drizzle  that  shrouded 
the  streets.  He  turned.  It  was  repeated  for  a  third 
time,  and  as  he  realized  whence  it i  came  he  cried  out, 
affrightedly: 

"Donnelly!     Donnelly!    Oh,  God!" 

Then  he  began  to  run  swiftly,  as  he  had  run  that  night 
four  years  before,  with  the  lights  of  Terranova  in  the 
distance,  and  in  his  heart  was  that  same  sickening,  horrible 
terror.  But  this  time  he  ran,  not  away  from  the  sound, 
but  towards  it. 

As  he  raced  along  the  slippery  streets  the  night  air 
was  ripped  again  and  again  with  those  same  loud  reverber 
ations.  He  saw,  by  the  flickering  arc-lamp  above  the  cross 
ing  where  he  had  just  left  Donnelly,  another  figure  flying 
toY/ards  him,  and  recognized  O'Connell.  Together  they 
turned  into  Girod  Street. 

They  were  in  time  to  see  a  flash  from  the  shed  that  stood 
in  front  of  Larubio's  shop,  then  an  answering  spurt  of 
flame  from  the  side  of  the  street  upon  which  they  were. 
The  place  was  full  of  noise  and  smoke.  At  the  farther 
crossing  a  man  in  a  shining  rubber  coat  knelt  and  fired, 
then  rose  and  scurried  into  the  darkness  beyond.  Figures 
broke  out  from  the  shadows  of  the  wooden  awning  in 
front  of  Larubio's  shop  and  followed,  some  turning 
towards  the  left  at  Basin  Street,  others  continuing  on 
through  the  area  lighted  by  the  sputtering  street  light 
and  into  the  night.  One  of  them  paused  and  looked 
back  as  if  loath  to  leave  the  spot  until  certain  of  his 
work. 

Side  by  side  Blake  and  O'Connell  raced  towards  the 
Chief,  whom  they  saw  lurching  uncertainly  along  the 
banquette  ahead  of  them.  The  detective  was  cursing; 
Blake  sobbed  through  his  tight-clenched  teeth. 

Donnelly  was  down  when  they  reached  him,  and  his 
11  161 


THE    NET 

empty  revolver  lay  by  his  side.  Norvin  raised  him  with 
shaking  arms,  his  whole  body  sick  with  horror. 

"Are  you  badly — hit,  old  man?"  he  gasped. 

"I'm— done  for!"  said  the  Chief,  weakly.  "And  the 
dagos  did  it." 

From  an  open  window  above  them  a  woman  began  to 
scream  loudly: 

"Murder!    Murder!" 

The  cry  was  taken  up  in  other  quarters  and  went 
echoing  down  the  street. 

Doors  were  flung  wide,  gates  slammed,  men  came 
hurrying  through  the  wet  night,  hurling  startled  questions 
at  one  another,  but  the  powder  smoke  which  hung  slug 
gishly  in  the  dark  night  air  was  sufficient  answer.  It 
floated  in  thin  blue  layers  beneath  the  electric  lights, 
gradually  fading  and  melting  as  the  life  ebbed  from  the 
mangled  body  of  Dan  Donnelly. 

It  was  nearing  dawn  when  Norvin  Blake  emerged 
from  the  hospital  whither  Donnelly  had  been  taken.  The 
air  was  dead  and  heavy,  a  dripping  winding-sheet  of  fog 
wrapped  the  city  in  its  folds;  no  sound  broke  the  silence 
of  the  hour.  He  was  sadly  shaken,  for  he  had  watched  a 
brave  soul  pass  out  of  the  light,  and  in  his  ears  the  words 
of  his  friend  were  ringing : 

"Don't  let  them  get  away  with  this,  Norvin.  You're 
the  only  man  I  trust." 


XIII 

THE  BLOOD  OF  HIS  ANCESTORS 

AT  the  Central  Station  Norvin  found  a  great  con 
fusion.  City  officials  and  newspaper  men  were  coming 
and  going,  telephones  were  ringing,  patrolmen  and  de 
tectives,  summoned  from  their  beds,  were  reporting  and 
receiving  orders;  yet  all  this  bustling  activity  affected 
him  with  a  kind  of  angry  impatience.  It  seemed,  some 
how,  perfunctory  and  inadequate;  in  the  intensity  of  his 
feeling  he  doubted  that  any  one  else  realized,  as  he  did, 
the  full  significance  of  what  had  occurred. 

As  quickly  as  possible  he  made  his  way  to  O'Neil,  the 
Assistant  Superintendent  of  Police,  who  was  deep  in  con 
sultation  with  Mayor  Wright.  For  a  moment  he  stood 
listening  to  their  talk,  and  then,  at  the  first  pause,  inter 
posed  without  ceremony: 

"Tell  me — what  is  being  done?" 

O'Neil,  who  had  not  seemed  to  note  his  approach,  an 
swered  without  a  hint  of  surprise  at  the  interruption: 

"We  are  dragging  the  city." 

"Of  course.     Have  you  arrested  Larubio,  the  cobbler?" 

"No!"  Both  men  turned  to  Blake  now  with  con 
centrated  attention. 

"Then  don't  lose  a  moment's  time.  Arrest  all  his 
friends  and  associates.  Look  for  a  man  in  a  rubber  coat. 
I  saw  him  fire.  There's  a  boy,  too,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "about  fourteen  years  old.  He  was 
hiding  at  the  corner.  I  think  he  must  have  been  their 
picket;  at  any  rate,  he  knows  something." 

163 


THE    NET 

The  Assistant  Superintendent  noted  these  directions, 
and  listened  impassively  while  Norvin  poured  forth  his 
story  of  the  murder.  Before  it  was  fairly  concluded  he 
was  summoned  elsewhere,  and,  turning  away  abruptly, 
he  left  the  room,  like  a  man  who  knows  he  must  think 
of  but  one  thing  at  a  time.  The  young  man,  wiping  his 
face  with  uncertain  hand,  turned  to  the  Mayor. 

"Dan  was  the  second  friend  I've  seen  murdered  by 
these  devils,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  do  something." 

"We'll  need  your  help,  if  it  was  really  the  dagoes." 

"What?  There's  no  doubt  on  that  score.  Donnelly 
was  warned." 

"Well,  we  ought  to  have  them  under  arrest  in  short 
order." 

"And  then  what?  They've  probably  arranged  their 
alibis  long  ago.  The  fellows  who  did  the  shooting  are 
not  the  only  ones,  either.  We  must  get  the  leaders." 

"Exactly.     O'Neil  understands." 

"But  he'll  fail,  as  Donnelly  failed." 

"What  would  you  have  us  do?" 

Blake  spoke  excitedly,  his  emotions  finding  a  vent. 
"Do?  I'd  rouse  the  people.  Awaken  the  city.  Create 
an  uprising  of  the  law-abiding.  Strip  the  courts  of  their 
red  tape  and  administer  justice  with  a  rope.  Hang  the 
guilty  ones  at  once,  before  delay  robs  their  execution  of 
its  effect  and  before  there  is  time  to  breed  doubts  and 
distrust  in  the  minds  of  the  people." 

"You  mean,  in  plain  words — lynch  them?" 

"Well,  what  of  that?     It's  the  only—" 

"But,  my  dear  young  man,  the  law — " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  well  enough, 
yet  there  are  times  when  mob  law  is  justified.  If  these 
men  are  not  destroyed  quickly  they  will  live  to  laugh  at 
our  laws  and  our  scheme  of  justice.  We  must  strike  ter 
ror  into  the  heart  of  every  foreign-born  criminal;  we 
must  clean  the  city  with  fire,  unless  we  wish  to  see  our 

164 


THE   BLOOD    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

institutions  become  a  mockery  and  our  community  over 
ridden  by  a  band  of  cutthroats.  The  killing  of  Dan 
Donnelly  is  more  than  a  mere  murder;  it  is  an  attack 
on  our  civilization." 

"You  are  carried  away  by  your  personal  feelings." 

"I  think  not.  If  this  thing  runs  through  the  regular 
channels,  what  will  happen?  You  know  how  hard  it  is 
to  convict  those  people.  We  must  fight  fire  with  fire." 

"  Personally,  I  agree  with  a  good  deal  you  say;  officially, 
of  course,  I  can't  go  so  far.  You  say  you  want  to  help. 
Will  you  assume  a  large  responsibility?  Will  you  take 
the  lead  in  a  popular  movement  to  help  the  enforcement 
of  the  law — organize  a  committee?" 

"If  you  think  I'm  the  right  man?" 

"Good!  Understand"  —  the  Mayor  spoke  now  with 
determined  earnestness — "we  must  have  no  lynchings; 
but  I  believe  the  police  will  need  help  in  the  search,  and 
I  think  you  are  the  man  to  stir  up  the  public  conscience 
and  secure  that  aid.  If  you  can  help  in  apprehending 
the  criminals  we  shall  see  that  the  courts  do  their  part. 
I  can  trust  you  in  so  delicate  a  matter  where  I  couldn't 
trust — some  others." 

O'Neil  appeared  at  that  moment  with  two  strange  ob 
jects  in  his  hands. 

"See  what  we've  just  found  on  the  Basin  Street  ban 
quette." 

He  displayed  a  pair  of  sawed-off  shotguns  the  stocks 
of  which  were  hinged  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
weapons  could  be  doubled  into  a  length  of  perhaps  eigh 
teen  inches  and  thus  be  concealed  upon  the  person. 
Blake  examined  them  with  mingled  feelings.  Having 
seen  the  body  of  the  Chief  ripped  and  torn  in  twenty 
places  by  buckshot,  slugs,  and  scraps  of  iron,  he  had  tried 
to  imagine  what  sort  of  firearms  had  been  used.  Now  he 
knew,  and  he  began  to  wonder  whether  death  would  come 
to  him  in  the  same  ugly  form. 


THE    NET 

"Have  you  sent  for  Larubio?"  he  asked. 

"The  men  are  just  leaving." 

"I'll  go  with  them." 

O'Neil  intercepted  the  officers  at  the  door,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  Norvin  was  hurrying  with  them  toward  Girod 
Street.  Mechanically  his  mind  began  to  review  the 
events  leading  up  to  the  murder,  dwelling  on  each  detail 
with  painful  and  fruitless  persistence.  He  repictured  the 
scene  that  his  eye  had  so  swiftly  and  so  carelessly  re 
corded;  he  saw  again  the  dark  shed,  the  dumb  group  of 
figures  idling  beneath  it,  the  open  door  and  the  flood  of 
yellow  light  behind.  But  when  he  strove  to  recall  a  single 
face  or  form,  or  even  the  precise  number  of  persons, 
he  was  at  a  loss.  Nothing  stood  out  distinctly  but  the 
bearded  face  of  Larubio,  the  silhouette  of  a  man  in  a 
gleaming  rubber  coat,  and,  a  moment  later,  a  slim 
stripling  boy  crouched  in  the  shadows  near  the  cor 
ner. 

As  the  party  turned  into  Girod  Street  he  saw  by  the 
first  streaks  of  dawn  that  the  curious  had  already  begun 
to  assemble.  A  dozen  or  more  men  were  morbidly  exam 
ining  the  scene,  re-enacting  the  assassination  and  tracing 
the  course  of  bullets  by  the  holes  in  wall  and  fence — no 
difficult  matter,  since  the  ground  where  Donnelly  had 
given  battle  had  been  swept  by  a  fusillade. 

Larubio's  shop  was  dark. 

The  officers  tried  the  door  quietly,  then  at  a  signal  from 
Norvin  they  rushed  it.  The  next  instant  the  three  men 
found  themselves  in  an  evil-smelling  room  furnished  with 
a  bench,  some  broken  chairs,  a  litter  of  tools  and  shoes 
and  leather  findings.  It  was  untenanted,  but,  seeing  an 
other  door  ahead  of  him,  Blake  stumbled  toward  it 
over  the  debris.  Like  the  outer  door,  it  was  barred,  but 
yielded  to  his  shoulder. 

It  was  well  that  the  policemen  were  close  upon  his 
heels,  for  they  found  him  locked  in  desperate  conflict 

1 66 


THE    BLOOD    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

with  a  huge,  half-naked  Sicilian,  who  fought  with  the 
silent  wickedness  of  a  wolf  at  bay. 

The  chamber  was  squalid  and  odorous;  a  tumbled 
couch,  from  which  the  occupant  had  leaped,  showed  that 
he  had  been  calmly  sleeping  upon  the  scene  of  his  crime. 
Through  the  dim-lit  filth  of  the  place  the  cobbler  whirled 
them,  struggling  like  a  man  insane.  A  table  fell  with  a 
crash  of  dishes,  a  stove  was  wrecked,  a  chair  smashed, 
then  he  was  pinned  writhing  to  the  bed  from  which  he 
had  just  arisen. 

"Close  the  front  door  —  quick!"  Norvin  panted. 
"Keep  out  the  crowd!" 

One  of  the  policemen  dashed  to  the  front  of  the  hovel 
barely  in  time  to  bar  the  way. 

Larubio,  as  he  crouched  there  in  the  half-light,  man 
acled  but  defiant,  made  a  striking  figure.  He  was  a 
patriarchal  man.  His  hairy,  naked  chest  rose  and  fell 
as  he  fought  for  his  breath,  a  thick  beard  grew  high  upon 
his  cheeks,  lending  dignity  to  his  fierce  aquiline  features, 
a  tangled  mass  of  iron-gray  hair  hung  low  above  his  eyes. 
He  looked  more  like  an  Arab  sheik  than  a  beggarly 
Sicilian  shoemaker. 

"Why  are  you  here?"  he  questioned,  in  a  deep  voice. 

Blake  answered  him  in  his  own  language: 

"You  killed  the  Chief  of  Police." 

"No.     I  had  no  part — " 

"Don't  lie!" 

"As  God  is  my  judge,  I  am  innocent.  I  heard  the 
shooting;  I  looked  out  into  the  night  and  saw  men  run 
ning  about.  I  was  frightened,  so  I  went  to  bed.  That 
is  all." 

Norvin  undertook  to  stare  him  down. 

"You  will  hang  for  this,  Larubio,"  he  said. 

The  fierce  gray  eyes  met  his  unflinchingly. 

"You  had  a  hand  in  the  killing,  for  I  saw  you.  But 
you  acted  against  your  will.  Am  I  right?" 

167 


THE    NET 

Still  the  patriarch  flung  back  his  glance  defiantly. 

"You  were  ordered  to  kill  and  you  dared  not  disobey. 
Where  is  Belisario  Cardi?" 

The  old  man  started.  Into  his  eyes  for  the  briefest 
instant  there  leaped  a  look  of  terror,  then  it  was  gone. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  he 
answered. 

"Come!  The  man  with  the  rubber  coat  has  con 
fessed." 

Larubio's  gaze  roved  uncertainly  about  the  squalid 
quarters;  but  he  shook  his  head,  mumbling: 

"God  will  protect  the  innocent.  I  know  nothing,  your 
Excellency." 

They  dragged  him,  still  protesting,  from  his  den  as  dogs 
drag  an  animal  from  its  burrow.  But  Norvin  had  learned 
something.  That  momentary  wavering  glance,  that  flit 
ting  light  of  doubt  and  fear,  had  told  him  that  to  the 
cobbler  the  name  of  Cardi  meant  something  real  and 
terrible. 

Back  at  headquarters  O'Neil  had  further  information 
for  him. 

"We've  got  Larubio's  brother-in-law,  Gaspardo  Cressi. 
It  was  his  son,  no  doubt,  whom  you  saw  waiting  at  the 
corner." 

"Have  you  found  the  boy?" 

"No,  he's  gone." 

"Then  make  haste  before  they  have  time  to  spirit 
him  away.  These  men  won't  talk,  but  we  might  squeeze 
something  out  of  the  boy.  He's  the  weakest  link  in  the 
chain,  so  you  must  find  him." 

The  morning  papers  were  on  the  street  when  Norvin 
went  home.  New  Orleans  had  awakened  to  the  outrage 
against  her  good  name.  Men  were  grouped  upon  corners, 
women  were  gossiping  from  house  to  house,  the  air  was 
surcharged  with  a  great  excitement.  It  was  as  if  a  public 
enemy  had  been  discovered  at  the  gates,  as  if  an  alien  foe 

1 68 


THE   BLOOD    OF   HIS    ANCESTORS 

had  struck  while  the  city  slept.  That  unformed  foreign 
prejudice  which  had  been  slowly  growing  had  crystallized 
in  a  single  night. 

To  Norvin  the  popular  clamor,  which  rose  high  during 
the  next  few  days,  had  a  sickening  familiarity.  At  the 
time  of  Martel  Savigno's  murder  he  had  looked  upon  jus 
tice  as  a  thing  inevitable,  he  had  felt  that  the  public 
wrath,  once  aroused,  was  an  irresistible  force;  yet  he 
had  seen  how  ineffectually  such  a  force  could  spend  it 
self.  And  the  New  Orleans  police  seemed  likely  to 
accomplish  little  more  than  the  Italian  soldiers.  Al 
though  more  than  a  hundred  arrests  were  made,  it  was 
doubtful  if,  with  the  exception  of  Larubio  and  Cressi, 
any  of  the  real  culprits  had  been  caught.  He  turned 
the  matter  over  in  his  mind  incessantly,  consulted  with 
O'Neil  as  to  ways  and  means,  conferred  with  the  Mayor, 
sounded  his  friends.  Then  one  morning  he  awoke  to  find 
himself  at  the  head  of  a  Committee  of  Justice,  composed 
of  fifty  leading  business  men  of  the  city,  armed  with 
powers  somewhat  vaguely  defined ,  but  in  reality  extreme 
ly  wide.  He  set  himself  diligently  to  his  task. 

There  followed  through  the  newspapers  an  appeal  to 
the  Italian  population  for  assistance,  and  offers  of  tre 
mendous  rewards.  This  resulted  in  a  flood  of  letters, 
some  signed,  but  mostly  anonymous,  a  multitude  of  shad 
owy  clues,  of  wild  accusations.  But  no  sooner  was  a 
promising  trail  uncovered  than  the  witness  disappeared 
or  became  inspired  with  a  terror  which  sealed  his  lips. 
It  began  to  appear  that  there  was  really  no  evidence  to 
be  had  beyond  what  Norvin's  eyes  had  photographed. 
And  this,  he  knew,  was  not  enough  to  convict  even  La 
rubio  and  his  brother-in-law. 

While  thus  baffled  and  groping  for  the  faintest  clue, 
he  received  a  letter  which  brought  him  at  least  a  ray  of 
sunshine.  He  had  opened  perhaps  half  of  his  morning's 
mail  one  day  when  he  came  upon  a  truly  remarkable 

169 


THE    NET 

missive.  It  was  headed  with  an  amateurish  drawing  of 
a  skull ;  at  the  bottom  of  the  sheet  was  a  dagger,  and  over 
all,  in  bright  red,  was  the  life-size  imprint  of  a  small, 
plump  hand. 

In  round,  school-girl  characters  he  read  as  follows: 

"Beware!  You  are  a  traitor  and  a  deserter,  there 
fore  you  are  doomed.  Escape  is  impossible  unless  you 
heed  this  warning.  Meet  me  at  the  old  house  on  St. 
Charles  Street,  and  bring  your  ransom. 

"THE  AVENGER." 

At  the  lower  left-hand  corner,  in  microscopic  characters, 
was  written: 

"I  love  chocolate  nougat  best." 

Norvin  laughed  as  he  re-read  this  sanguinary  epistle, 
for  he  had  to  admit  that  it  had  given  him  a  slight  start. 
Being  a  man  of  action,  he  walked  to  the  telephone  and 
called  a  number  which  had  long  since  become  familiar. 

"Is  this  the  Creole  Candy  Kitchen?  Send  ten  pounds 
of  your  best  chocolate  nougat  to  Miss  Myra  Nell  Warren 
at  once.  This  is  Blake  speaking.  Wait !  I  have  enough 
on  my  conscience  without  adding  another  sin.  Perhaps 
you'd  better  make  it  five  pounds  now  and  five  pounds  a 
week  hereafter.  Put  it  in  your  fanciest  basket,  with  lots 
of  blue  ribbon,  and  label  it  'Ransom!'" 

Next  he  called  the  girl  himself,  and  after  an  inter 
minable  wait  heard  a  breathless  voice  say: 

"Hello,  Norvin!  I've  been  out  in  the  kitchen  making 
cake,  so  I  couldn't  get  away.  It's  in  the  oven  now, 
cooking  like  mad." 

"I've  just  received  a  threatening  letter,"  he  told  her. 

"Who  in  the  world  could  have  sent  it?" 

"Evidently  some  blackmailing  wretch.  It  demands 
a  ransom." 

170 


THE    BLOOD    OF   HIS    ANCESTORS 

"Heavens!    You  won't  be  cowardly  enough  to  yield?" 

"Certainly.     I  daren't  refuse." 

He  heard  her  laughing  softly.  "Why  don't  you  tell 
the  police?" 

"Indeed!  There's  an  army  of  men  besieging  the  place 
now."  , 

"Then  you  must  expect  to  catch  the  writer?" 

"I've  been  trying  to  for  a  long  time." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
she  said,  innocently. 

"Could  I  have  sent  the  ransom  to  the  wrong  address?" 

He  pretended  to  be  seized  with  doubt,  whereupon  Myra 
Nell  exclaimed,  quickly: 

"Oh,  not  necessarily."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Norvin, 
how  does  a  person  get  red  ink  off  of  her  hands?" 

"Use  a  cotton  broker.     Let  him  hold  it  this  evening." 

''I'd  love  to,  but  Bernie  wouldn't  allow  it.  It  was  his 
ink,  you  know,  and  I  spilled  it  all  over  his  desk.  Norvin — 
is  it  really  nougat?" 

"It  is,  the  most  unhealthy,  the  most  indigestible — " 

"You  duck!  You  may  hold  my  gory  hand  for —  Wait !" 
Blake  heard  a  faint  shriek.  "Don't  ring  off.  Something 
terrible — "  Then  the  wire  was  dead. 

"Hello!  Hello!"  he  called.  "What's  wrong,  Myra 
Nell?"  He  rattled  the  receiver  violently,  and  getting 
no  response,  applied  to  Central.  After  some  moments  he 
heard  her  explaining  in  a  relieved  tone: 

"Oh,  such  a  fright  as  I  had." 

"What  was  it?    For  Heaven's—" 

"The  cake!" 

"You  frightened  me.     I  thought — " 

"It's  four  stories  high  and  pasted  together  with  cara 
mel." 

"You  should  never  leave  a  'phone  in  that  way  with 
out—" 

"Bernie  detests  caramel;  but  I'm  expecting  a  'certain 

171 


party '  to  call  on  me  to-night.     Norvin,  do  you  think  red 
ink  would  hurt  a  cake?" 

"Myra  Nell,"  he  said,  severely,  "didn't  you  wash  your 
hands  before  mixing  that  dough?" 

"Of  course." 

"I  have  my  doubts.  Will  you  really  be  at  liberty  this 
evening?" 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  you.  If  I  am,  I  shall 
exact  another  ransom — flowers,  perhaps." 

"I'll  send  them  anyhow,  Marechal  Neils." 

"Oh,  you  are  a —    Wait!" 

For  a  second  time  Miss  Warren  broke  off;  but  now 
Norvin  heard  her  cry  out  gladly  to  some  one.  He  held 
the  receiver  patiently  until  his  arm  cramped,  then  rang 
up  again. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  all  about  you,  Norvin  dear,"  she  chat 
tered.  "Vittoria  has  just  come,  so  I  can't  talk  to  you 
any  more.  Won't  you  run  out  and  meet  her?  I  know 
she's  just  dying  to —  She  says  she  isn't,  either!  Oh, 
fiddlesticks!  You're  not  so  busy  as  all  that.  Very  well, 
we'll  probably  eat  the  cake  ourselves.  Good-by!" 

"Good-by,  Avenger,"  he  laughed. 

As  he  turned  away  smiling  he  found  Bernie  Dreux  com 
fortably  ensconced  in  an  office  chair  and  regarding  him 
benignly. 

"Hello,  Bernie!     I  didn't  hear  you  come  in." 

' '  Wasn't  that  Myra  Nell  talking  ?"  inquired  the  little  man. 

"Yes." 

"You  called  her  'Avenger.'  What  has  she  been  up  to 
now?" 

Blake  handed  him  the  red-hand  letter.  To  his  sur 
prise  Bernie  burst  out  angrily: 

"How  dare  she?" 

"What?" 

"It's  most  unladylike — begging  a  gentleman  for  gifts. 
I'll  see  that  she  apologizes." 

172 


THE    BLOOD    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS 

"If  you  do  I'll  punch  your  head.  She  couldn't  do  any 
thing  unladylike  if  she  tried." 

"I  don't  approve — " 

"Nonsense!" 

"I'll  see  that  she  gets  her  chocolates." 

"Oh,  I've  sent  'em — a  deadly  consignment — enough 
to  destroy  both  of  you.  And  I've  left  a  standing  order 
for  five  pounds  a  week." 

"But  that  letter — it's  blackmail."  Bernie  groaned. 
"She  holds  me  up  in  the  same  way  whenever  she  feels 
like  it.  She's  getting  suspicious  of  me  lately,  and  I 
daren't  tell  her  I'm  a  detective.  The  other  day  she  set 
Remus,  our  gardener,  on  my  trail,  and  he  shadowed  me 
all  over  the  town.  Felicite  thinks  there's  something 
wrong,  too,  and  she's  taken  to  following  me.  Between 
her  and  Remus  I  haven't  a  moment's  privacy." 

"It's  tough  for  a  detective  to  be  dogged  by  his  gar 
dener  and  his  sweetheart,"  Norvin  sympathized.  He 
began  to  run  through  his  mail,  while  his  visitor  talked 
on  in  his  amusing,  irrelevant  fashion. 

"I'm  rather  offended  that  I  wasn't  named  on  that 
Committee  of  Fifty, ' '  Bernie  confessed,  after  a  time.  ' '  You 
know  how  the  Chief  relied  on  me?" 

"Exactly." 

"Well,  I'm  full  of  Italian  mysteries  now.  What  I 
haven't  discovered  by  my  own  investigations,  Vittoria 
Fabrizi  has  told  me.  For  instance,  I  know  what  became 
of  the  boy  Gino  Cressi." 

"You  do?"  Blake  looked  up  curiously  from  a  letter 
he  had  been  eagerly  perusing. 

"He's  in  Mobile." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Certainly." 

"I  think  you're  wrong." 

"Why  am  I  wrong?" 

"Read  this.  My  mail  is  full  of  anonymous  communi- 

173  • 


THE    NET 

cations."    He  passed  over  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and 
Mr.  Dreux  read  as  follows: 

NORVIN  BLAKE, 

NEW  ORLEANS,  LOUISIANA. 

The  Cressi  boy  is  hidden  at  93^  St.  Phillip  Street.  Go 
personally  and  in  secret,  for  there  are  spies  among  the  police. 

ONE  WHO  KNOWS. 

"Good  Lord!    Do  you  believe  it?" 

"I  shall  know  in  an  hour."  In  reality  Norvin  had  no 
doubt  that  his  informant  told  the  truth.  On  the  contrary, 
he  found  that  he  had  been  waiting  subconsciously  for  a  hint 
from  this  mysterious  but  reliable  source,  and  now  that 
it  had  come  he  felt  confident  and  elated.  "A  leak  in  the 
department  would  explain  the  maddening  series  of  check 
mates  up  to  date."  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  con 
tinued:  "If  Gino  Cressi  proves  to  be  the  boy  I  saw  that 
night,  we  will  put  the  rope  around  his  father's  and  his 
uncle's  necks,  for  he  is  little  more  than  a  child,  and  they 
evidently  knew  he  would  confess  if  accused;  otherwise 
they  wouldn't  have  been  so  careful  to  hide  him."  He 
rose  and,  eying  Dreux  intently,  inquired,  "Will  you  go 
along  and  help  me  take  him?" 

Bernie  fell  into  a  sudden  panic  of  excitement.  His  face 
paled,  he  blinked  with  incredible  rapidity,  his  lips  twitched, 
and  he  clasped  his  thin,  bloodless  hands  nervously. 

"Why — are  you — really — going — and  alone?" 

Norvin  nodded.  "If  they  have  spies  among  our  own 
men  the  least  indiscretion  may  give  the  alarm.  Besides, 
there  is  no  time  to  lose;  it  would  be  madness  to  go  there 
after  dark.  Will  you  come?" 

"You— b-b-bet,"  Mr.  Dreux  stuttered.  After  a  pain 
ful  effort  to  control  himself  he  inquired,  with  rolling  eyes, 
"  S-say,  Norvin.will  there  be  any  fighting — any  d-d-danger?" 

Blake's  own  imagination  had  already  presented  that 
aspect  of  the  matter  all  too  vividly. 

174 


THE    BLOOD   OF   HIS   ANCESTORS 

"Yes,  there  may  be  danger,"  he  confessed.  "We  may 
have  to  take  the  boy  by  force."  His  nerves  began  to 
dance  and  quiver,  as  always  before  every  new  adventure. 
"Perhaps,  after  all,  you'd  better  not  go.  I — understand 
how  you  feel." 

The  little  man  burst  out  in  a  forceful  expletive. 

"Pudding!    I  want  to  fight.     D-don't  you  see?" 

"No.     I  don't." 

"I've  never  been  in  a  row.  I've  never  done  anything 
brave  or  desperate,  like — like  you.  I'm  aching  for 
trouble.  I  go  looking  for  it  every  night." 

"Really!"     Blake  looked  his  incredulity. 

"Sure  thing!  Last  night  I  insulted  a  perfectly  nice 
gentleman  just  to  provoke  a  quarrel.  I'd  never  seen  him 
beforehand  ordinarily  I  hesitate  to  accost  strangers;  but 
I  felt  as  if  I'd  have  hysterics  if  I  couldn't  lick  somebody; 
so  I  wralked  up  to  this  person  and  told  him  his  necktie 
was  in  rotten  taste." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  offered  to  go  home  and  change  it.  I  was  so  cha 
grined  that  I — cursed  him  fearfully." 

"Bernie!" 

Dreux  nodded  with  an  expression  of  the  keenest  satis 
faction.  "I  could  have  cried.  I  called  him  a  worm,  a 
bug,  a  boll -weevil;  but  he  said  he  had  a  family  and  didn't 
intend  to  be  shot  up  by  some  well-dressed  desperado." 

"I  suppose  it's  the  blood  of  your  ancestors." 

"I  suppose  it  is.  Now  let's  go  get  this  dago  boy. 
I'm  loaded  for  grizzlies,  and  if  the  Mafia  cuts  in  I'll  croak 
somebody."  He  drew  a  huge  rusty  military  revolver  from 
somewhere  inside  his  clothes  and  flourished  it  so  recklessly 
that  his  companion  recoiled. 

Together  the  two  set  out  for  St.  Phillip  Street.  Blake, 
whose  reputation  for  bravery  had  become  proverbial,  went 
reluctantly,  preyed  upon  by  misgivings ;  Dreux,thedecadent, 
overbred  dandy,  went  gladly,  as  if  thirsting  for  the  fray. 


XIV 

THE    NET   TIGHTENS 

NUMBER  93^  St.  Phillip  Street  proved  to  be  a  hovel,  in 
the  front  portion  of  which  an  old  woman  sold  charcoal 
and  kindling.  Leaving  Bernie  on  guard,  Blake  pene 
trated  swiftly  to  the  rooms  behind,  paying  no  heed  to 
the  crone's  protestations.  In  one  corner  a  slender,  dark- 
eyed  boy  was  cowering,  whom  he  recognized  at  once  as 
the  lad  he  had  seen  on  the  night  of  Donnelly's  death. 

"You  are  Gino  Cressi,"  he  said,  quietly. 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are,  and  you  must  come  with  me,  Gino." 

The  little  fellow  recoiled.  "You  have  come  to  kill 
me,"  he  quavered. 

"No,  no,  my  little  man.  Why  should  I  wish  to  do 
that?" 

"I  am  a  Sicilian;  you  hate  me." 

"That  is  not  true.  We  hate  only  bad  Sicilians,  and 
you  are  a  good  boy." 

"I  did  not  kill  the  Chief." 

"True.  You  did  not  even  know  that  those  other  men 
intended  to  kill  him.  You  were  merely  told  to  wait  at 
the  corner  until  you  saw  him  come  home.  Am  I  right?" 

"I  do  not  know  anything  about  the  Chief,"  Gino 
mumbled. 

But  it  was  plain  that  some  of  his  fear  was  vanishing 
under  this  unexpected  kindness.  Blake  had  a  voice 
which  won  dumb  animals,  and  a  smile  which  made  friends 
of  children.  At  last  the  young  Sicilian  came  forward 
and  put  his  hand  into  the  stranger's. 

176 


THE    NET    TIGHTENS 

"They  told  me  to  hide  or  the  Americans  would  kill 
me.  Madonna  mia!  I  am  no  Mafioso!  I — I  wish  to 
see  my  father." 

"I  will  take  you  to  him  now." 

"You  will  not  harm  me?" 

"No.     You  are  perfectly  safe." 

But  the  boy  still  hung  back,  stammering: 

"I— am  afraid,  Si'or.  After  all,  you  see,  I  know  noth 
ing.  Perhaps  I  had  better  wait  here." 

"But  you  will  come,  to  please  me,  will  you  not?  Then 
when  you  find  that  the  policemen  will  not  hurt  you,  you 
will  tell  us  all  about  it,  eh,  carino?" 

He  led  his  shrinking  captive  out  through  the  front  of 
the  house,  whence  the  crone  had  fled  to  spread  the  alarm, 
and  lifted  him  into  the  waiting  cab.  But  Bernie  Dreux 
was  loath  to  acknowledge  such  a  tame  conclusion  to  an 
adventure  upon  which  he  had  built  high  hopes. 

"L-let's  stick  round,"  he  shivered.  "  It's  just  getting 
g-g-good." 

"Come  on,  you  idiot."  Blake  fairly  dragged  him  in 
and  commanded  the  driver  to  whip  up.  "  That  old  woman 
will  rouse  the  neighborhood,  and  we'll  have  a  mob  heaving 
bricks  at  us  in  another  minute." 

"That  '11  be  fine!"  Dreux  declared,  his  pride  revolt 
ing  at  what  he  considered  a  cowardly  retreat.  He  had 
come  along  in  the  hope  of  doing  deeds  that  would  add 
luster  to  his  name,  and  he  did  not  intend  to  be  disappoint 
ed.  It  required  a  vigorous  muscular  effort  to  keep  him 
from  clambering  out  of  the  carriage. 

"I  don't  understand  you  at  all,"  said  Norvin,  with 
one  hand  firmly  gripping  his  coat  collar,  "but  I  under 
stand  the  value  of  discretion  at  this  moment,  and  I  don't 
intend  to  take  any  chances  on  losing  our  little  friend 
Gino  before  he  has  turned  State's  evidence." 

Dreux  sank  back,  gloomily  enough,  continuing  for  the 
rest  of  the  journey  to  declaim  against  the  fate  that  had 
12  177 


THE    NET 

condemned  him  to  a  life  of  insipid  peace;  but  it  was  not 
until  they  had  turned  out  of  the  narrow  streets  of  the 
foreign  quarter  into  the  wide,  clean  stretch  of  Canal 
Street  that  Blake  felt  secure. 

Little  Gino  Cressi  was  badly  frightened.  His  wan, 
pinched  face  was  ashen  and  he  shivered  wretchedly.  Yet 
he  strove  to  play  the  man,  and  his  pitiful  attempt  at  self- 
control  roused  something  tender  and  protective  in  his 
captor.  Laying  a  reassuring  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
Blake  said,  gently: 

"Coraggio!     No  harm  shall  befall  you." 

"I — do  not  wish  to  die,  Excellency." 

"You  will  not  die.  Speak  the  truth,  figlio  mio,  and 
the  police  will  be  very  kind  to  you.  I  promise." 

"I  know  nothing,"  quavered  the  child.  "My  father 
is  a  good  man.  They  told  me  the  Chief  was  dead,  but  I 
did  not  kill  him.  I  only  hid." 

"Who  told  you  the  Chief  was  dead?" 

"I — do  not  remember." 

"Who  told  you  to  hide?" 

"I  do  not  remember,  Si'or."  Gino's  eyes  were  like 
those  of  a  hunted  deer,  and  he  trembled  as  if  dreadfully 
cold. 

It  was  a  wretched,  stricken  child  whom  Blake  led  into 
O'Neil's  office,  and  for  a  long  time  young  Cressi's  lips 
were  glued;  but  eventually  he  yielded  to  the  kind-faced 
men  who  were  so  patient  with  him  and  his  lies,  and  told 
them  all  he  knew. 

On  the  following  morning  the  papers  announced  three 
new  arrests  in  the  Donnelly  case,  resulting  from  a  con 
fession  by  Gino  Cressi.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same 
day  the  friendly  and  influential  Caesar  Maruffi  called 
upon  Blake  with  a  protest. 

"Signore,  my  friend,"  he  began,  "you  and  your  Com 
mittee  are  doing  a  great  injustice  to  the  Italians  of  this 
city." 

178 


THE    NET   TIGHTENS 

"How  so?" 

"Already  everybody  hates  us.  We  cannot  walk  upon 
your  streets  without  insult.  Men  curse  us,  children  spit 
at  us.  We  are  not  Jews;  we  are  Italians.  There  are 
bad  people  among  my  countrymen,  of  course,  but,  Sig- 
nore,  look  upon  me.  Do  you  think  such  men  as  I — " 

"Oh,  you  stand  for  all  that  is  best  in  your  community, 
Mr.  Maruffi.  I  only  wish  you'd  help  us  clean  house." 

The  Sicilian  shrugged.     "Help?    How  can  I  help?" 

"Tell  what  you  know  of  the  Mafia  so  that  we  can 
destroy  it.  At  every  turn  we  are  thwarted  by  the  secrecy 
of  your  people." 

"They  know  what  is  good  for  them.  As  for  me,  my 
flesh  will  not  turn  the  point  of  a  knife,  Signore.  Life  is 
an  enjoyable  affair,  and  if  I  die  I  can  never  marry.  What 
would  you  have  me  tell?" 

"The  name  of  the  Capo-Mafia,  for  instance." 

"You  think  there  is  a  Capo-Mafia?" 

"I  know  it.    What's  more,  I  know  who  he  is." 

"Belisario  Cardi?  Bah!  Few  people  believe  there  is 
such  a  man." 

"You  and  I  believe  it." 

"Perhaps.  But  what  if  I  could  lay  hands  upon  him? 
Think  you  that  I,  or  any  Sicilian,  would  dare?  All  the 
police  of  this  city  could  never  take  Belisario  Cardi.  It  is 
to  make  laugh !  Our  friend  Donnelly  was  unwise,  he  was 
too  zealous.  Now — he  is  but  a  memory.  He  took  a  life, 
his  life  was  taken  in  return.  This  affair  will  mean  more 
deaths.  Leave  things  as  they  are,  my  friend,  before  you 
too  are  mourned." 

Norvin  eyed  his  caller  curiously. 

"That  sounds  almost  as  much  like  a  threat  as  a  warn- 
ing." 

"God  forbid!  I  simply  state  the  truth  for  your  own 
good  and  for  the  good  of  all  of  us.  Wherever  Sicilians 
are  found  there  your  laws  will  be  ignored.  For  my  own 

179 


THE   NET 

part,  naturally,  I  do  not  approve — I  am  an  American 
now — but  the  truth  is  what  I  tell  you." 

"In  other  words,  you  think  we  ought  to  leave  your 
countrymen  alone?" 

"Ah,  I  do  not  go  so  far.  The  laws  should  be  enforced, 
that  is  certain.  But  in  trying  to  do  what  is  impossible 
you  stir  up  race  hatred  and  make  it  hard  for  us  reputable 
Sicilians,  who  would  help  you  so  far  as  lies  in  our  power. 
You  cannot  stamp  out  the  Mafia  in  a  day,  in  a  week;  it 
is  Sicilian  character.  Already  you  have  done  enough 
to  vindicate  the  law.  If  you  go  on  in  a  mad  attempt  to 
catch  this  Cardi — whose  existence,  even,  is  doubtful — 
the  consequences  may  be  in  every  way  bad." 

"We  have  five  of  the  murderers  now,  and  we'll  have 
the  other  man  soon — the  fellow  with  the  rubber  coat. 
The  grand  jury  will  indict  them.  But  we  won't  stop 
there.  We're  on  a  trail  that  leads  higher  up,  to  the  man, 
or  men,  who  directed  Larubio  and  the  others  to  do  their 
work." 

MarufH  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "And  the  Cressi 
boy — it  was  you  who  found  him?" 

"It  was." 

"How  did  you  do  it?" 

Norvin  laughed.  "If  you'd  only  enlist  in  the  cause 
I'd  tell  you  all  my  secrets  gladly." 

"Eh!    Then  he  was  betrayed!" 

For  the  life  of  him  Norvin  could  not  tell  whether  the 
man  was  pleased  or  chagrined  at  his  secrecy,  but  some 
thing  told  him  that  the  Sicilian  was  feeling  him  out  for 
a  purpose.  He  smiled  without  answering. 

"Betrayed!"  said  Maruffi.  "Ah,  well,  I  should  not 
like  to  be  in  the  shoes  of  the  betrayer."  He  seemed  to 
lose  himself  in  thought  for  a  moment.  "  Believe  me,  I 
would  help  you  if  I  could,  but  I  know  nothing,  and  be 
sides  it  is  dangerous.  I  am  a  good  citizen,  but  I  am  not 
a  detect! V6o  You  American  -  born,"  he  smiled,  "assume 

180 


THE    NET   TIGHTENS 

that  all  we  Sicilians  are  deep  in  the  secrets  of  the  Mafia. 
So  the  people  in  the  street  insult  us,  and  you  in  authority 
think  that  if  we  would  only  tell — bah!  Tell  what?  We 
know  no  more  than  you,  and  it  is  less  safe  for  us  to  aid." 
He  rose  and  extended  his  hand.  "Of  course,  if  I  learn 
anything  I  will  inform  you;  but  there  are  times  when  it 
is  best  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie." 

Norvin  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  a  feeling  of 
relief,  for  he  was  puzzled  as  to  the  object  of  this  visit  and 
wanted  time  to  think  it  out  undisturbed.  The  upshot 
of  his  reflection  was  that  Donnelly  had  been  right  and 
that  Caesar  was  indeed  the  author  of  the  warning  letters. 
As  to  his  want  of  knowledge,  the  Sicilian  protested  rather 
like  a  man  who  plays  a  part  openly.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  fears  for  his  own  safety  seemed  genuine  enough.  What 
more  natural,  then,  than  that  he  should  wish  to  test 
Donnelly's  successor  with  the  utmost  care  before  pro 
ceeding  with  his  disclosures?  Blake  was  glad  that  he 
had  been  secretive,  for  if  Maruffi  were  the  unknown 
friend  he  would  find  such  caution  reassuring. 

As  if  to  confirm  this  view  of  the  case,  there  came,  a 
day  or  two  later,  another  communication,  stating  that 
the  assassin  who  was  still  at  large  (he,  in  fact,  who  had 
worn  the  rubber  coat)  was  a  laborer  in  the  parish  of  St. 
John  the  Baptist,  named  Frank  Normando.  The  letter 
went  on  to  say  that  in  escaping  from  the  scene  of  the  crime 
the  man  had  fallen  on  the  slippery  pavement,  and  the 
traces  of  his  injury  might  still  be  found  upon  his  body. 

Norvin  lost  no  time  in  consulting  O'Neil. 

"Jove!  You're  the  best  detective  we  have,"  said  the 
Acting  Chief,  admiringly.  "I'd  do  well  to  turn  this  affair 
over  to  you  entirely." 

"Have  you  learned  anything  more  from  your  pris 
oners?" 

"Nothing.  They  refuse  to  talk.  We're  giving  them 
the  third  degree;  but  it's  no  use.  There  was  another 

181 


THE    NET 

murder  on  St.  Phillip  Street  last  night.  The  old  woman 
who  guarded  the  Cressi  boy  was  found  dead." 

"Then  they  think  she  betrayed  the  lad?"  Norvin  re 
called  Maruffi's  hint  that  it  would  go  hard  with  the 
traitor. 

"Yes;  we  might  have  expected  it.  How  many  men 
will  you  need  to  take  this  Normando?" 

"I?  You— think  I'd  better  do  the  trick?"  Blake  had 
not  intended  to  take  any  active  part  in  the  capture.  He 
was  already  known  as  the  head  of  the  movement  to 
avenge  Donnelly;  he  had  apprehended  Larubio  and  the 
Cressi  boy  with  his  own  hand.  Inner  voices  warned  him 
wildly  to  run  no  further  risks. 

"I  thought  you'd  prefer  to  lead  the  raid,"  O'Neil  said. 

"So  I  would.  Give  me  two  or  three  men  and  we'll 
bring  in  Normando,  dead  or  alive." 

Six  hours  later  the  last  of  Donnelly's  actual  assassins 
was  in  the  parish  prison  and  the  police  were  in  possession 
of  evidence  showing  his  movements  from  early  morning 
on  the  day  of  the  murder  up  to  the  hour  of  the  crime. 
His  identification  was  even  more  complete  than  that  of 
his  accomplices,  and  the  public  press  thanked  Norvin 
Blake  in  the  name  of  the  city  for  his  efficient  service. 

The  anonymous  letters  continued  to  come  to  him 
regularly,  and  each  one  contained  some  important  clue, 
which,  followed  up,  invariably  led  to  evidence  of  value. 
Slowly,  surely,  out  of  nothing  as  it  were,  the  chain  was 
forged.  Now  came  the  names  of  persons  who  had  seen 
or  had  talked  with  some  of  the  accused  upon  the  fatal 
day,  now  a  hint  which  turned  light  upon  some  dark  spot 
in  their  records.  Again  the  letters  aided  in  the  discovery 
of  important  witnesses,  who,  under  pressure,  confessed 
to  facts  which  they  had  feared  to  make  public — until  at 
last  the  history  of  the  six  assassins  lay  exposed  like  an 
open  sheet  before  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

The  certainty  and  directness  with  which  the  "One  Who 

182 


THE   NET   TIGHTENS 

Knows"  worked  was  a  matter  of  ever-increasing  amaze 
ment  to  Blake.  He  himself  was  little  more  than  an  in 
strument  in  these  unseen  hands.  Who  or  what  could  the 
writer  be  ?  By  what  means  could  he  remain  in  such  inti 
mate  touch  with  the  workings  of  the  Mafia,  and  what 
reason  impelled  him  to  betray  its  members?  Hour  after 
hour  the  young  man  speculated,  racking  his  head  until 
it  ached.  He  considered  every  possibility,  he  began  to 
look  with  curiosity  at  every  face.  At  length  he  came  to 
feel  an  even  greater  interest  in  the  identity  of  this  hidden 
friend  than  in  the  result  of  the  struggle  itself.  But  in 
vestigations — no  matter  how  cautious — invariably  re 
sulted  in  a  prompt  and  imperative  warning  to  desist 
upon  pain  of  ruining  everything. 

Gradually  in  his  mind  the  conviction  assumed  cer 
tainty  that  the  omniscient  informer  could  be  none  other 
than  Caesar  Maruffi.  He  frequented  the  Red  Wing  Club 
as  Donnelly  had  done,  and  the  more  he  saw  of  the  fellow 
the  more  firm  became  his  belief.  He  had  recognized  at  their 
first  meeting  that  Caesar  was  unusual — there  was  some 
thing  unfathomable  about  him — but  precisely  what  this 
peculiarity  was  he  could  never  quite  determine. 

As  for  Maruffi,  he  met  Norvin's  advances  half-way; 
but  although  he  was  apparently  more  than  once  upon  the 
verge  of  some  disclosure,  the  terror  of  the  brotherhood 
seemed  always  to  intervene.  Feeling  that  he  could  not 
openly  voice  his  suspicions  until  the  other  was  ready  to 
show  his  hand,  Blake  kept  a  close  mouth,  and  thus  the 
two  played  at  cross-purposes.  Maruffi — if  he  were  in 
deed  the  author  of  those  letters — had  not  shrunk  from 
betraying  the  unthinking  instruments  of  the  Mafia. 
Would  he  ever  bring  himself  to  implicate  the  man,  or 
men,  higher  up?  Blake  doubted  it.  A  certain  instinct 
ive  distrust  of  the  Sicilian  was  beginning  to  master  him 
when  a  letter  came  which  put  a  wholly  different  face 
upon  the  matter. 

183 


THE    NET 

"The  men  who  really  killed  Chief  Donnelly,"  it  read, 
"are  Salvatore  di  Marco,  Frank  Garcia,  Giordano  Bolla, 
and  Lorenzo  Cardoni."  Blake  gasped;  these  were  men 
of  standing  and  repute  in  the  foreign  community.  "  Laru- 
bio  and  his  companions  were  but  parts  of  the  machine ; 
these  are  the  hands  which  set  them  in  motion.  These 
four  men  dined  together  on  the  evening  of  October  isth, 
at  Fabacher's,  then  attended  a  theater  where  they  made 
themselves  conspicuous.  From  there  they  proceeded  to 
the  lower  section  of  the  city  and  were  purposely  arrested 
for  disturbing  the  peace  about  the  time  of  Donnelly's 
murder,  in  order  to  establish  incontestable  alibis.  Never 
theless,  it  was  they  who  laid  the  trap,  and  they  are  equally 
guilty  with  the  wretches  who  obeyed  their  orders.  It  was 
they  who  paid  over  the  blood  money,  and  with  their 
arrest  you  will  have  all  the  accessories  to  the  crime,  save 
one.  Of  him  I  can  tell  you  nothing.  I  fear  I  can  never 
find  him,  for  he  walks  in  shadow  and  no  man  dares  identify 
him." 

The  importance  of  this  information  was  tremendous, 
for  arrests  up  to  date  had  been  made  only  among  the  lower 
element.  An  accusation  against  Di  Marco,  Garcia, 
Bolla,  and  Cardoni  would  set  the  city  ablaze.  O'Neil 
was  aghast  at  the  charge.  The  Mayor  was  incredulous, 
the  Committee  of  Fifty  showed  signs  of  hesitation.  But 
Blake,  staking  his  reputation  on  the  genuineness  of  the 
letter,  and  urging  the  reliability  of  the  writer  as  shown 
on  each  occasion  in  the  past,  won  his  point,  and  the 
arrests  were  made. 

The  Italian  press  raised  a  frightful  clamor,  the  pris 
oners  themselves  were  righteously  indignant,  and  Norvin 
found  that  he  had  begun  to  lose  that  confidence  which 
the  public  had  been  so  quick  to  place  in  him.  Neverthe 
less,  he  pursued  his  work  systematically,  and  soon  the 
mysterious  agent  proceeded  to  weave  a  new  web  around 
the  four  suspected  men,  while  he  looked  on  fascinated, 

184 


THE    NET    TIGHTENS 

doing  as  he  was  bid,  keeping  his  own  counsel  as  he  had 
been  advised,  and  turning  over  the  results  of  his  inquiries 
to  the  police  as  they  were  completed. 

Then  came  what  he  had  long  been  dreading — a  warning 
like  those  which  had  foreshadowed  Donnelly's  death — and 
he  began  to  spend  sleepless  nights.  His  daylight  hours 
were  passed  in  a  strained  expectancy ;  he  fought  constantly 
to  hold  his  fears  in  check;  he  began  sitting  with  his 
face  to  doors;  he  turned  wide  corners  and  avoided  side 
streets.  He  became  furtive  and  watchful;  his  eyes  were 
forever  flitting  here  and  there;  he  chose  the  outer  edges 
of  the  sidewalks,  and  he  went  nowhere  after  nightfall 
unattended.  The  time  was  past  when  he  could  doubt  the 
constancy  of  his  purpose;  but  he  did  fear  a  nervous  break 
down,  and  even  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  possible 
insanity.  Being  in  fact  as  sane  a  man  as  ever  lived,  his 
irrational  nerves  alarmed  him  all  the  more.  He  could 
not  conceive  that  an  event  was  immediately  before  him 
which,  without  making  his  position  safer,  would  rouse 
him  from  all  thought  of  self. 

Our  lives  are  swayed  by  trifles;  a  feather's  weight  may 
alter  the  course  of  our  destinies.  A  man's  daily  existence 
is  made  up  of  an  infinite  series  of  choices,  every  one  of 
which  is  of  the  utmost  importance,  did  he  but  know  it. 
We  follow  paths  of  a  million  forkings,  none  of  which 
converge.  A  momentary  whim,  a  passing  fancy,  a  broken 
promise,  turns  our  feet  into  trails  that  wind  into  realms 
undreamed  of. 

It  so  happened  that  Myra  Nell  Warren  yielded  to  an 
utterly  reasonless  impulse  to  go  calling  at  the  utterly  ab 
surd  hour  of  10  A.M.  Miss  Warren  followed  no  set  rules 
in  her  conduct,  her  mind  reacted  according  to  no  given 
formula,  and,  therefore,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
to  visit  a  little  old  Creole  lady  in  the  French  quarter,  she 
went  without  thoughtful  consideration  or  delay. 

Madame  la  Branche  was  a  distant  cousin  on  Bernie's 

185 


THE    NET 

side — so  distant,  in  fact,  that  noone  except  herself  had  ever 
troubled  to  trace  the  precise  relationship;  but  she  em 
ployed  a  cook  whose  skill  was  celebrated.  Now  Myra 
Nell's  appetite  was  a  most  ungovernable  affair,  and  when 
she  realized  that  her  complete  happiness  depended  upon 
a  certain  bouillabaisse,  in  the  preparation  of  which 
Madame  la  Branche's  Julia  had  become  famous,  she 
whisked  her  hair  into  a  knot,  jammed  her  best  and  largest 
hat  over  its  unruly  confusion,  and  went  bouncing  away 
in  the  direction  of  Esplanade  Street. 

It  was  in  the  early  afternoon  that  Norvin  Blake  re 
ceived  a  note  from  a  coal-black  urchin,  who,  after  many 
attempts,  had  finally  succeeded  in  penetrating  to  his 
inner  office. 

Recognizing  the  writing,  Norvin  tore  open  the  envelope 
eagerly,  ready  to  be  entertained  by  some  fresh  example  of 
the  girl's  infinite  variety.  He  read  with  startled  eyes: 

"I  send  this  by  a  trusted  messenger,  hoping  that  it  will 
reach  you  in  time.  I  am  a  prisoner.  I  am  in  danger.  I 
fear  my  beauty  is  destroyed.  If  you  love  me,  come. 

"Your  wretched 

"MYRA  NELL." 

The  address  was  that  of  a  house  on  Esplanade  Street. 

"How  did  you  get  this?"  he  demanded,  harshly,  of  the 
pickaninny. 

"A  lady  drap  it  from  a  window." 

"Where?    Where  was  she?" 

"  In  a  gre't  big  house  on  Esplanade  Street.  She  seemed 
mighty  put  out  about  something.  Then  a  man  run  me 
away  with  a  club." 

A  moment  later  Blake  was  on  the  street  and  had  hailed 
a  carriage.  The  driver,  reading  urgency  in  the  set  face 
of  his  fare,  whipped  the  horses  into  a  gallop  and  the 
vehicle  tore  across  town,  leaping  and  rocking  violently. 

186 


THE    NET   TIGHTENS 

The  thought  that  Myra  Nell  was  in  danger  filled  Blake 
with  a  physical  sickness.  Her  beauty  gone!  Could  it 
be  that  the  Mafia  had  taken  this  means  of  attacking  him, 
knowing  of  his  affection  for  the  girl?  Of  a  sudden  she 
became  very  dear,  and  he  was  smothered  with  fury  that 
any  one  should  cause  her  suffering. 

His  heart  was  pounding  madly  as  the  carriage  slowed 
into  Esplanade  Street,  threatening  to  upset,  and  he  saw 
ahead  of  him  the  house  he  sought.  With  a  sharp  twinge 
of  apprehension  he  sighted  another  man  approaching  the 
place  at  a  run,  and  leaping  from  his  conveyance,  he  raced 
on  with  frantic  speed. 


XV 

THE    END    OF   THE    QUEST 

EVIDENTLY  the  alarm  had  spread,  for  there  were  others 
ahead  of  Blake.  Several  men  were  grouped  beneath  an 
open  window.  They  were  strangely  excited;  some  were 
panting  as  if  from  violent  exertion;  a  young  French 
creole,  Lecompte  Rilleau,  was  sprawled  at  full  length 
upon  the  grassy  banquette,  either  badly  injured  or  en 
tirely  out  of  breath.  He  raised  a  listless  hand  to  the  new 
comer,  as  if  waving  him  to  the  attack.  Norvin  recog 
nized  them  all  as  admirers  of  Myra  Nell — cotton  brokers, 
merchants,  a  bank  cashier — a  great  relief  surged  over 
him. 

"Thank  God!  You're  here — in  time,"  he  gasped. 
"What's  happened  to — her?" 

Raymond  Cline  started  to  speak,  but  just  then  Blake 
heard  the  girl  herself  calling  to  him,  and  saw  her  leaning 
from  a  window,  her  piquant  beauty  framed  with  blushing 
roses  which  hung  about  the  sill. 

"Myra  Nell!  You're  safe!"  he  cried,  shakingly. 
"What  have  they  done  to  you?" 

She  smiled  piteously  and  shook  her  dark  head. 

"You  were  good  to  come.     I  am  a  prisoner." 

"A  prisoner!"  Norvin  stared  at  the  young  men  about 
him.  "Come  on,"  he  said,  "let's  get  her  out!" 

But  Murray  Logan  quieted  him.  "It's  no  use,  old 
man." 

"What  d'you  mean?" 

"You  can't  go  in." 

188 


THE    END    OF    THE    QUEST 

"Can't — go — in?"  As  Blake  stared  uncomprehend- 
ingly  at  the  speaker  he  heard  rapid  footsteps  approaching 
and  saw  Achille  Marigny  coming  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
It  was  he  who  appeared  in  the  distance  as  Norvin  rounded 
the  corner,  and  it  was  plain  now  that  he  was  well-nigh 
spent. 

Rilleau  reared  himself  on  one  elbow  and  cried  with 
difficulty : 

"Welcome,  Achille." 

' '  Take  it  easy,  Marigny , ' '  called  Cline ; ' '  we've  saved  her." 

Some  one  laughed,  and  the  suspicion  that  he  had  been 
hoaxed  swept  over  Blake. 

"What's  the  joke?"  he  demanded.  "I  was  frightened 
to  death." 

"The  house  is  quarantined." 

"I  never  dreamed  you'd  all  come,"  Miss  Warren  was 
saying,  sweetly.  "It  was  very  gallant,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it — never." 

"She  says  her — beauty  is — gone,"  wildly  panted 
Marigny,  who  had  run  himself  blind  and  as  yet  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  drumming  in  his  ears. 

"Judge  for  yourself."  Cline  steadied  him  against  the 
low  iron  fence  and  pointed  to  the  girl's  bewitching  face 
embowered  in  the  leafy  window  above. 

From  where  he  lay  flat  on  his  back,  idly  flapping  his 
hands,  Rilleau  complained:  "I  have  a  weak  heart.  Will 
somebody  get  me  a  drink?" 

"It  was  splendid  of  you,"  Myra  Nell  called  down  to 
the  group.  "  I  love  you  for  it.  Please  get  me  out,  right 
away." 

Norvin  now  perceived  a  burly  individual  seated  upon 
the  steps  of  the  La  Branche  mansion.  He  approached 
with  a  view  to  parleying,  but  the  man  forestalled  him, 
saying  warningly: 

"You  can't  go  in.    They've  got  smallpox  in  there." 

"Smallpox!" 

189 


THE    NET 

"Go  away  from  that  door!"  screamed  Myra  Nell;  but 
the  fellow  merely  scowled. 

"I  hate  to  offend  the  lady,"  he  explained  to  Norvin,  in 
a  hoarse  whisper;  "but  I  can't  let  her  out." 

Miss  Warren  repeated  in  a  fury : 

"Go  away,  I  tell  you.  These  are  friends  of  mine.  If 
you  were  a  gentleman  you'd  know  you're  not  wanted. 
Norvin,  make  him  skedaddle." 

Blake  shook  his  head.  "  You've  scared  us  all  blue.  If 
you're  quarantined  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do." 

"The  idea!    You  can  at  least  come  in." 

"If  you  go  in,  you  can't  come  out,"  belligerently  de 
clared  the  watchman.  "Them's  orders." 

"Oh-h!    You  monster!"  cried  his  prisoner. 

"She  says  herself  she's  got  it,"  the  man  explained. 

"  I  never  did !' '  Myra  Nell  wrung  her  hands.  ' '  Will  you 
stand  there  and  let  me  perish  ?  Do  you  refuse  to  save  me  ? ' ' 

"Where  is  Madame  la  Branche?"  Norvin  asked. 

"Asleep.  And  Cousin  Montegut  is  playing  solitaire  in 
the  library." 

"Then  who  has  the  smallpox?" 

"The  cook!  They  took  her  screaming  to  the  pest- 
house  an  hour  after  I  came.  I  shall  be  the  next  victim; 
I  feel  it.  We're  shut  up  here  for  a  week,  maybe  longer. 
Think  of  that!  There's  nothing  to  do,  nobody  to  talk 
to,  nothing  to  look  at.  We  need  another  hand  for  whist. 
I — I  supposed  somebody  would  volunteer." 

"I'd  love  to,"  Rilleau  called,  faintly,  from  the  curb, 
"but  I  wouldn't  survive  a  week.  My  heart  is  beating 
its  last,  and  besides — I  don't  play  whist." 

Mr.  Cline  called  the  attention  of  his  companions  to 
two  figures  which  had  appeared  in  the  distance,  and  be 
gan  to  chant: 

"The  animals  came  in  two  by  two, 

The  elephant  and  the  kangaroo." 

190 


THE    END   OF   THE    QUEST 

"Gentlemen,  here  come  the  porpoise  and  the  ante 
lope.  We  are  now  complete." 

The  new  arrivals  proved  to  be  Bernie  Dreux  and 
August  Kulm,  the  latter  a  fat  Teutonic  merchant  whose 
place  of  business  was  down  near  the  river.  Mr.  Kulm 
had  evidently  run  all  the  way,  for  he  was  laboring  heavily 
and  his  gait  had  long  since  slackened  into  a  stumbling 
trot.  His  eyes  were  rolling  wildly;  his  fresh  young 
cheeks  were  purple  and  sheathed  in  perspiration. 
,  Miss  Warren  exclaimed,  crossly: 

"Oh,  dear!  I  didn't  send  for  Bernie.  I'll  bet  he's 
furious." 

And  so  it  proved.  When  her  half-brother's  horrified 
alarm  had  been  dispelled  by  the  noisy  group  of  rescuers 
it  was  replaced  by  the  blackest  indignation.  He  thanked 
them  stiffly  and  undertook  to  apologize  for  his  sister,  in 
thj  midst  of  which  Rilleau,  who  had  now  managed  to  re 
gain  his  feet,  suggested  the  formation  of  "The  Myra  Nell 
Contagion  Club." 

"Its  object  shall  be  the  alleviation  of  our  lady's  dis 
tress,  and  its  membership  shall  be  limited  to  her  rejected 
suitors,"  he  declared.  "We'll  take  turns  amusing  her. 
I'll  appoint  myself  chairman  of  the  entertainment  com 
mittee  and  one  of  us  will  always  be  on  guard.  We'll  sing, 
we'll  dance,  we'll  cavort  beneath  the  window,  and  help 
to  while  the  dreary  hours  away." 

His  suggestion  was  noisily  accepted,  then  after  an  ex 
change  of  views  Murray  Logan  confessed  that  he  had 
bolted  a  directors'  meeting,  and  that  ruin  stared  him  in 
the  face  unless  he  returned  immediately.  Achille  Mar- 
igny,  it  appeared,  had  unceremoniously  fled  from  the  trial 
of  an  important  lawsuit,  and  Raymond  Cline  was  needed 
at  the  bank.  Foote,  Delavan,  and  the  others  admitted 
that  they,  too,  must  leave  Miss  Warren  to  her  fate,  at 
least  until  after  'Change  had  closed.  And  so,  having 
put  themselves  at  her  service  with  extravagant  protesta- 

191 


THE    NET 

tions  of  loyalty,  promising  candy,  books,  flowers,  a  choir 
to  sing  beneath  her  window,  they  finally  trooped  off,  half 
carrying  the  rotund  Mr.  Kulm,  who  had  sprinted  himself 
into  a  jelly-like  state  of  collapse. 

Rilleau  alone  maintained  his  readiness  to  brave  the 
perils  of  smallpox,  leprosy,  or  plague  at  Miss  Warren's 
side,  until  Bernie  informed  him  that  the  very  idea  was 
shocking,  whereupon  he  dragged  himself  away  with  the 
accusation  that  all  his  heart  trouble  lay  at  her  door. 

"Oh,  you  spoiled  it  all!"  Myra  Nell  told  her  brother, 
indignantly.  "You  might  at  least  have  let  him  come  in. 
Cousin  Althea  would  have  chaperoned  us." 

"The  idea!     Why  did  you  do  such  an  atrocious  thing?" 

"Were  you  frightened,  Norvin?"  The  girl  beamed 
hopefully  down  upon  him. 

"Horribly.  I'm  not  over  it  yet.  I'm  half  inclined  to 
act  on  Lecompte's  suggestion  and  break  in." 

She  clapped  her  hands  gleefully,  whereupon  the  watch 
man  arose,  saying: 

"No  you  don't!" 

"I  wouldn't  allow  such  a  thing,"  said  Bernie,  firmly. 
"It  would  mean  a  scandal." 

"I — I  can't  stay  here  alone,  for  a  whole  week.  I'll 
die." 

"Then  I'll  join  you  myself,"  her  brother  offered. 

Myra  Nell  looked  alarmed.  "Oh,  not  you!  I  want 
some  one  to  nurse  me  when  I  fall  ill." 

"What  makes  you  think  you'll  catch  it?  Were  you 
exposed?" 

"Exposed!  Heavens!  I  can  feel  the  disease  coming 
on  this  very  minute.  The  place  is  full  of  germs;  I  can 
spear  'em  with  a  hat-pin."  She  shuddered  and  managed 
to  counterfeit  a  tear. 

"I've  an  idea,"  said  Norvin.  "I'll  get  that  trained 
nurse  who  saved  you  when  you  fell  off  the  horse." 

"Vittoria?  She  might  do.  But,  Norvin,  the  horse 

192 


threw  me."    She  warned  him  with  a  grimace  which  Ber- 
nie  did  not  see.     "He's  a  frightful  beast." 

"I  can't  afford  a  trained  nurse,"  Dreux  objected,  "and 
you  don't  need  one,  anyhow." 

"All  right  for  you,  Bernie;  if  you  don't  care  any  more 
for  my  life  than  that,  I'll  sicken  and  die.  When  a  girl's 
relatives  turn  against  her  it's  time  she  was  out  of  the 
way." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  her  brother,  angrily.  "It's  ruin 
ous,  but  I  suppose  you  must  have  it  your  way." 

Myra  Nell  shook  her  head  gloomily.  "No — not  if  you 
are  going  to  feel  like  that.  Of  course,  if  she  were  here  she 
could  cut  off  my  hair  when  I  take  to  my  bed;  she  could 
bathe  my  face  with  lime-water  when  my  beauty  goes; 
she  could  listen  to  my  ravings  and  understand,  for  she 
is  a — woman.  But  no,  I'm  not  worth  it.  Perhaps  I  can 
get  along  all  right,  and,  anyhow,  I'll  have  to  teach  school 
or — or  be  a  nun  if  I'm  all  pock-marks." 

' '  Good  Lord !"  Bernie  wiped  his  brow  with  a  trembling 
hand.  "D'you  think  that  '11  happen,  Norvin?" 

"It's  bound  to,"  the  girl  predicted,  indifferently. 
"But  what's  the  odds?"  Suddenly  a  new  thought  di 
lated  her  eyes  with  real  horror.  "Oh!"  she  cried.  "Oh! 
I  just  happened  to  remember.  I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the 
Carnival!  Now,  I'll  be  scarred  and  hideous,  even  if  I 
happen  to  recover;  but  I  won't  recover.  You  shall  have 
my  royal  robe,  Bunny.  Keep  it  always.  And  Norvin 
shall  have  my  hair." 

"Here!  I— don't  want  your  hair,"  Blake  asserted, 
nervously.  "I  mean  not  without — " 

"It  is  all  I  have  to  give." 
-    "You  may  not  catch  the  smallpox,  after  all." 

"We'll — have  Miss  Fabrizi  b-by  all  means,"  Bernie 
chattered. 

"You  stay  here  and  talk  to  her  while  I  go,"  Norvin 
suggested,  quickly.     "And,  Myra  Nell,  I'll  fetch  you  a 
13  193 


THE    NET 

lot  of  chocolates.  I'll  fetch  you  anything,  if  you'll  only 
cheer  up." 

"Remember,  it's  against  my  wishes,"  the  girl  said. 
"But  she's  not  at  the  hospital  now;  she's  living  in  the 
Italian  quarter."  She  gave  him  the  street  and  number, 
and  he  made  off  in  all  haste. 

On  his  way  he  had  time  to  think  more  collectedly  of 
the  girl  he  had  just  left.  Her  prank  had  shocked  him 
into  a  keen  realization  of  his  feeling  for  her,  and  he  be 
gan  to  understand  the  large  part  she  played  in  his  life. 
Many  things  inclined  him  to  believe  that  her  regard  for 
him  was  really  deeper  than  her  careless  levity  indicated, 
and  it  seemed  now  that  they  had  been  destined  for  each 
other. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  reached  his  destination.  A  nonde 
script  Italian  girl  ushered  him  up  a  dark  stairway  and  into 
an  old-fashioned  drawing-room  with  high  ceiling,  and 
long  windows  which  opened  out  upon  a  rusty  over 
hanging  iron  balcony.  The  room  ran  through  to  a  court 
in  the  rear,  after  the  style  of  so  many  of  these  foreign- 
built  houses.  It  had  once  been  the  home  of  luxury  and 
elegance,  but  had  long  since  fallen  into  a  state  of  shabby 
decay.  He  was  still  lost  in  thoughts  of  the  important 
step  which  he  contemplated  when  he  heard  the  rustle 
of  a  woman's  garment  behind  him  and  rose  as  a  tall 
figure  entered  the  room. 

"Miss  Fabrizi?"  he  inquired.     "I  came  to  find  you — " 

He  paused,  for  the  girl  had  given  a  smothered  cry. 
The  light  was  poor  and  the  shadows  played  tricks  with 
his  eyes.  He  stepped  forward,  peering  strangely  at  her, 
then  halted. 

"Margherita!"  he  whispered;  then  in  a  shaking  voice, 
"My  God!" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quietly,  "it  is  I." 

He  touched  her  gently,  staring  as  if  bereft  of  his  senses. 
He  felt  himself  swept  by  a  tremendous  excitement.  It 

194 


THE    END    OF    THE    QUEST 

struck  him  dumb;  it  shook  him;  it  set  the  room  to 
whirling  dizzily.  The  place  was  no  longer  ill-lit  and 
shabby,  but  illumined  as  if  by  a  burst  of  light.  And 
through  his  mad  panic  of  confusion  he  saw  her  standing 
there,  calm,  tawny,  self-possessed. 

"  Caro  Norvin!  You  have  found  me,  indeed,"  he  heard 
her  say.  "I  wondered  when  the  day  would  come." 

"You — you!"  he  choked.  His  arms  were  hungry  for 
her,  his  heart  was  melting  with  the  wildest  ecstasy  that 
had  ever  possessed  it.  She  was  clad  as  he  often  remem 
bered  her,  in  a  dress  which  partook  of  her  favorite  and  in 
separable  color,  her  hair  shone  with  that  unforgettable 
luster;  her  face  was  the  face  he  had  dreamed  of,  and 
there  was  no  shock  of  readjustment  in  his  recognition  of 
her.  Rather,  her  real  presence  made  the  cherished  men 
tal  image  seem  poor  and  weak. 

"I  came  to  see  Miss  Fabrizi.  Why  are  you  here?" 
He  glanced  at  the  door  as  if  expecting  an  interruption. 

"I  am  she." 

"Contessa!" 

"Hush!"  She  laid  her  fingers  upon  his  lips.  "I  am 
no  longer  the  Contessa  Margherita.  I  am  Vittoria 
Fabrizi." 

"Then — you  have  been  here — in  New  Orleans  for  a 
long  time?" 

"More  than  a  year." 

"Impossible!  I —  You —  It's  inconceivable!  Why 
have  we  never  met?" 

"I  have  seen  you  many  times." 

"And  you  didn't  speak?     Why,  oh,  why,  Margherita?" 

"My  friend,  if  you  care  for  me,  for  my  safety  and  my 
peace  of  mind,  you  must  not  use  that  name.  Collect 
yourself.  We  will  have  explanations.  But  first,  remem 
ber,  I  am  Vittoria  Fabrizi,  the  nurse,  a  poor  girl." 

"I  shall  remember.  I  don't  understand;  but  I  shall 
be  careful,  I  don't  know  what  it  all  means,  why  you — 

195 


THE    NET 

didn't  let  me  know."  In  spite  of  his  effort  at  self-control 
he  fell  again  into  a  delicious  bewilderment.  His  spirits 
leaped,  he  felt  unaccountably  young  and  exhilarated;  he 
laughed  senselessly  and  yet  with  a  deep  throbbing  under- 
note  of  delight.  "What  are  names  and  reasons,  anyhow? 
What  are  worries  and  hopes  and  despairs  ?  I've  found  you. 
You  live;  you  are  safe;  you  are  young.  I  feared  you 
were  old  and  changed — it  has  seemed  so  long  and — and 
my  search  dragged  so.  But  I  never  ceased  thinking  and 
caring — I  never  ceased  hoping — 

She  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Come,  come! 
You  are  upset.  It  will  all  seem  natural  enough  when  you 
know  the  story." 

"Tell  me  everything,  all  at  once.  I  can't  wait."  He 
led  her  to  a  low  French  lit  de  repos  near  by,  and  seated 
himself  beside  her.  Her  nearness  thrilled  him  with  the 
old  intoxication,  and  he  hardly  heeded  what  he  was  say 
ing.  "Tell  me  how  you  came  to  be  Vittoria  Fabrizi 
instead  of  Margherita  Ginini;  how  you  came  to  be  here; 
how  you  knew  of  my  presence  and  yet —  Oh,  tell  me 
everything,  for  I'm  smothering.  I'm  incoherent.  I  — 

T » 

"First,  won't  you  explain  how  you  happened  to  come 
looking  for  me?" 

He  gathered  his  wits  to  tell  her  briefly  of  Myra  Nell, 
feeling  a  renewed  sense  of  strangeness  in  the  fact  that 
these  two  knew  each  other.  She  made  as  if  to  rise. 

"Please!"  he  cried;  "this  is  more  important  than  Miss 
Warren's  predicament.  She's  really  delighted  with  her 
adventure,  you  know." 

"True,  she  is  in  no  danger.  There  is  so  much  to  tell! 
That  which  has  taken  four  years  to  live  cannot  be  told 
in  five  minutes.  I — I'm  afraid  I  am  sorry  you  came." 

"Don't  destroy  my  one  great  moment  of  gladness." 

"Remember  I  am  Vittoria  Fabrizi — " 

"I  know  of  no  other  name." 

196 


THE    END    OF   THE    QUEST 

"Lucrezia  is  here,  also,  and  she,  too,  is  another.  You 
have  never  seen  her.  You  understand?" 

He  nodded.     "And  her  name?" 

"Oliveta!    We  are  cousins." 

"I  respect  your  reasons  for  these  changes.  Tell  me 
only  what  you  wish." 

"Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  conceal,"  she  said,  relieved  at 
his  growing  calmness.  "They  are  old  family  names 
which  I  chose  when  I  gave  up  my  former  life.  You  won 
der  why?  It  is  part  of  the  story.  When  Martel  died  the 
Contessa  Margherita  died  also.  She  could  not  remain 
at  Terranova  where  everything  spoke  of  him.  She  was 
young;  she  began  a  long  quest.  As  you  know,  it  was 
fruitless,  and  when  in  time  her  ideas  changed  she  was 
born  to  a  new  life." 

"You  have — abandoned  the  search?" 

"Long  ago.  You  told  me  truly  that  hatred  and  re 
venge  destroy  the  soul.  I  was  young  and  I  could  not 
understand;  but  now  I  know  that  only  good  can  survive 
— good  thoughts,  good  actions,  good  lives." 

"And  is  the  Donna  Teresa  here?" 

Vittoria  shook  her  head.  "She  has  gone — back,  per 
haps,  to  her  land  of  sunshine,  her  flowers,  and  her  birds 
and  her  dream-filled  mountain  valleys.  It  was  two  years 
ago  that  we  lost  her.  She  could  not  survive  the  change. 
I  have — many  regrets  when  I  think  of  her." 

"You  know,  of  course,  that  I  returned  to  Sicily,  and 
that  I  followed  you?" 

"Yes.  And  when  I  learned  of  it  I  knew  there  was  but 
one  thing  to  do." 

"I  was  unwise — disloyal  there  at  Terranova."  She 
met  his  eyes  frankly,  but  made  no  sign.  "Is  that  why 
you  avoided  me?" 

"Ah,  let  us  not  speak  of  that  old  time.  When  one 
severs  all  connections  with  the  past  and  begins  a  new 
existence,  one  should  not  look  back.  But  I  have  not  lost 

197 


THE   NET 

interest  in  you,  my  friend.  I  have  learned  much  from 
Myra  Nell ;  seeing  her  was  like  seeing  you,  for  she  hardly 
speaks  of  any  one  else.  Many  times  we  nearly  met — 
only  a  moment  separated  us — you  came  as  I  went,  or  I 
came  in  time  barely  to  miss  you.  You  walked  one  street 
as  I  walked  another;  we  were  in  the  same  crowds,  our 
elbows  touched,  our  paths  crossed,  but  we  never  chanced 
to  meet  until  this  hour.  Now  I  am  almost  sorry — 

"But  why — if  you  have  forgiven  me;  how  could  you 
be  so  indifferent?  You  must  have  known  how  I  longed 
for  you." 

Her  look  checked  him  on  the  brink  of  a  passionate 
avowal. 

"Does  my  profession  tell  you  nothing?"  she  asked. 

"You  are  a — nurse.     What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"Do  you  know  that  I  have  been  with  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy?  I — I  am  one  of  them." 

"Impossible!" 

"In  spirit  at  least.  I  shall  be  one  in  reality,  as  soon 
as  I  am  better  fitted." 

"A  nun!"  He  stared  at  her  dumbly,  and  his  face 
paled. 

"I  have  given  all  I  possess  to  the  Order  excepting  only 
what  I  have  settled  upon  Oliveta.  This  is  her  house. 
I  am  her  guest,  her  pensioner.  I  am  ready  to  take  the 
last  step — to  devote  my  life  to  mercy.  Now  you  begin 
to  understand  my  reason  for  waiting  and  watching  you 
in  silence.  You  see  it  is  very  true  that  Margherita  Ginini 
no  longer  exists.  I  have  not  only  changed  my  name,  I 
am  a  different  woman.  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  doing  her 
best  to  comfort  him — "yes,  and  it  is  hard  for  me,  too. 
That  is  why  I  would  have  avoided  this  meeting." 

"If  you  contemplate  this — step,"  he  inquired,  dully, 
"why  have  you  left  the  hospital?" 

"I  am  not  ready  to  take  Orders.  I  have  much  to — 
overcome.  Now  I  must  prepare  Oliveta  to  meet  you, 

198 


THE    END    OF    THE    QUEST 

for  she  has  not  changed  as  I  have,  and  there  might  be 
consequences." 

"What  consequences?" 

"We  wish  to  forget  the  past,"  she  said,  non-commit- 
tally.  When  she  returned  from  her  errand  she  saw 
him  outlined  blackly  against  one  of  the  long  windows, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  head  low  as  if 
in  meditation.  He  seemed  unable  to  throw  off  this  spell 
of  silence  as  they  drove  to  the  La  Branche  home,  but 
listened  contentedly  to  her  voice,  so  like  the  low,  soft 
music  of  a  cello. 

After  he  left  her  it  was  long  before  he  tried  to  reduce 
his  thoughts  to  order.  He  preferred  to  dwell  indefinitely 
upon  the  amazing  fact  that  he  at  last  had  found  her,  that 
he  had  actually  seen  and  touched  her.  Finally,  when  he 
brought  himself  to  face  the  truth  in  its  entirety,  he  knew 
that  he  was  deeply  disappointed,  and  he  felt  that  he 
ought  to  be  hopeless.  Yet  hope  was  strong  in  him.  It 
blazed  through  his  very  veins,  he  felt  it  thrill  him  magi 
cally. 

When  he  fell  asleep  that  night  it  was  with  a  smile  upon 
his  lips,  for  hope  had  crystallized  into  a  baseless  but  none 
the  less  assured  belief  that  he  would  find  a  way  to  win 
her. 


XVI 

QUARANTINE 

BLAKE  arose  like  a  boy  on  Christmas  morning.  He 
thrilled  to  an  extravagant  gladness.  At  breakfast  the 
truth  came  to  him — he  was  young!  For  the  first  time 
he  realized  that  he  had  let  himself  grow  up  and  lose  his 
illusions;  that  he  had  become  cynical,  tired,  prosaic, 
while  all  the  time  the  flame  of  youth  was  merely  smoulder 
ing.  Old  he  was,  but  only  as  a  stripling  soldier  is  aged 
by  battle;  as  for  the  real,  rare  joys  of  living  and  loving, 
he  had  never  felt  them.  Myra  Nell  had  appealed  to  his 
affection  like  a  dear  and  clever  child,  and  helped  to  keep 
some  warmth  in  his  heart.  But  this  was  magic.  The 
sun  had  never  been  so  bright,  the  air  so  sweet  to  his 
nostrils,  the  strength  so  vigorous  in  his  limbs. 

He  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  mysterious  letters  by 
this  time  that  he  had  grown  to  look  for  them  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  he  was  not  disturbed  when,  on  arriving  at 
his  office,  he  found  one  in  his  mail.  Heretofore  the  writer 
had  been  positive  in  his  statements,  but  now  came  the 
first  hint  of  uncertainty. 

"  I  cannot  find  Belisario  Cardi,"  he  wrote.  "His  hand  is 
over  all,  and  yet  he  is  more  intangible  than  mist.  I  am 
hedged  about  with  difficulties  and  dangers  which  multiply 
as  the  days  pass.  I  can  do  no  more,  hence  the  task 
devolves  upon  you.  Be  careful,  for  he  is  more  desperate 
than  ever.  It  is  your  life  or  his. 

"ONE  WHO  KNOWS." 
200 


QUARANTINE 

It  was  as  daunting  a  message  as  he  could  have  received 
— the  withdrawal  of  assistance,  the  authoritative  con 
firmation  of  his  fears — yet  Blake's  spirit  rose  to  meet  the 
exigency  with  a  new  courage.  It  occurred  to  him  that  if 
Maruffi,  or  whoever  the  author  was,  had  exhausted  his 
usefulness,  perhaps  Vittoria  could  help.  She  had  spent 
much  time  in  her  search  for  this  very  Cardi,  and  might 
have  learned  something  of  value  concerning  him.  Oliveta, 
too,  could  be  of  assistance.  He  felt  sure  that  the  knowl 
edge  of  his  own  peril  would  be  enough  to  enlist  their  aid, 
and  he  gladly  seized  upon  the  thought  that  a  common 
interest  would  draw  him  closer  to  the  woman  he  loved. 

He  arrived  at  the  La  Branche  house  early  that  after 
noon,  and  found  young  Rilleau  sitting  on  a  box  beneath 
Myra  Nell's  window,  with  the  girl  herself  embowered  as 
before  in  a  frame  of  roses. 

"Any  symptoms  yet?"  Norvin  inquired,  agreeably. 

"Thousands!    I'm  slowly  dying." 

Lecompte  nodded  dolefully.     "Look  at  her  color." 

"No  doubt  it's  the  glow  from  those  red  roses  that  I  see 
in  her  cheeks." 

"It's  fever,"  Miss  Warren  exclaimed,  indignantly. 
She  took  a  hand-glass  from  her  lap  and  regarded  her 
vivid  young  features.  "  Smallpox  attacks  people  differ 
ently.  With  me  the  first  sign  is  fever."  She  had  parted 
her  abundant  hair  and  swept  it  back  from  her  brow  in  an 
attempt  to  make  herself  look  ill,  but  with  the  sole  effect 
of  enhancing  her  appearance  of  abounding  health.  Ma 
dame  la  Branche's  best  black  shawl  was  drawn  about  her 
plump  and  dimpled  shoulders.  Assuming  a  hollow  tone, 
she  inquired:  "Do  you  see  any  other  change  in  me?" 

"Yes.  And  I  rather  like  that  way  of  doing  your 
hair." 

"Vittoria  says  I  look  like  a  picture  of  Sister  Dolorosa, 
or  something." 

"Is  Miss  Fabrizi  in?" 

2OI 


THE    NET 

"In?  How  could  she  be  out?  Isn't  she  a  dear,  Nor- 
vin?  I  knew  you'd  meet  some  day." 

"Does  she  play  whist?" 

"Of  course  not,  silly.  She's — nearly  a  nun.  But  we 
sat  up  in  bed  all  night  talking.  Oh,  it's  a  comfort  to 
have  some  one  with  you  at  the  last,  some  one  in  whom 
you  can  confide.  I  can't  bear  to — to  soar  aloft  with  so 
much  on  my  conscience.  I've  confessed  everything." 

"What's  to  prevent  her  from  catching  the  disease  and 
soaring  away  with  you?" 

"She's  a  nurse.  They're  just  like  doctors,  you  know, 
they  never  catch  anything.  Is  that  hideous  watchman 
still  at  his  post?" 

"Yes.     Fast  asleep,  with  his  mouth  open." 

"I  hope  a  fly  crawls  in,"  said  the  girl,  vindictively; 
then,  in  an  eager  whisper:  "Couldn't  you  manage  to  get 
past  him?  We'd  have  a  lovely  time  here  for  a  week." 

Rilleau  raised  his  voice  in  jealous  protest. 

"And  leave  me  sitting  on  my  throne?  Never!  I'm 
giving  this  box-party  for  you,  Myra  Nell." 

"Oh,  you  could  come,  too." 

"I  respect  the  law,"  Norvin  told  her;  but  Lecompte 
continued  to  complain. 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  doing  here  at  this  time  of 
day,  anyhow,  Blake.  Have  you  no  business  responsibili 
ties?" 

"I'm  a  member  of  the  Contagion  Club;  I've  a  right 
to  be  here." 

"We  were  discussing  rice,  old  shoes,  and  orange  blos 
soms  when  you  interrupted,"  the  languid  Mr.  Rilleau 
continued.  "Frankly,  speaking  as  a  friend,  I  don't  see 
anything  in  your  conversation  so  far  to  interest  a  sick 
lady.  Why  don't  you  talk  to  the  yellow-haired  nurse?" 

"I  intend  to." 

"Vittoria  is  back  in  the  kitchen  preparing  my  diet," 
said  Myra  Nell.  "She's  making  fudge,  I  believe.  I — I 

202 


QUARANTINE 

seem  to  crave  sweet  things.     Maybe  it's  another  symp 
tom." 

"It  must  be,"  Blake  acknowledged.  "I'll  ask  her 
what  she  thinks  of  it."  With  a  glance  at  the  slumbering 
guard  he  vaulted  the  low  fence  and  made  his  way  around 
to  the  rear  of  the  house. 

He  heard  Vittoria  singing  as  he  came  into  the  flower- 
garden,  a  low-pitched  Sicilian  love-song.  He  called  to 
her,  and  she  came  to  a  window,  smiling  down  at  him, 
spotless  and  fresh  in  her  stiff  uniform. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you're  trespassing  and  may  get  into 
trouble?"  she  queried. 

"The  watchman  is  asleep,  and  I  had  to  speak  to  you." 

"No  wonder  he  sleeps.  Myra  Nell  holds  the  poor  fel 
low  responsible  for  all  her  troubles,  and  those  young  men 
have  nearly  driven  him  insane." 

"Is  there  any  danger  of  smallpox,  really?" 

"Not  the  slightest.  This  quarantine  is  merely  a  matter 
of  form.  But  that  child —  She  broke  into  a  frank, 
sweet  laugh.  "She  pretends  to  be  horribly  frightened. 
All  the  time  she  is  acting — the  little  fraud!" 

Norvin  flushed  a  bit  under  her  gaze. 

"I  had  no  chance  to  talk  to  you  last  night." 

"And  you  will  have  no  chance  now."  Vittoria  tipped 
her  chin  the  slightest  bit. 

"I  must  see  you,  alone." 

"Impossible!" 

"To-night.  You  can  slip  away  on  some  pretext  or 
other.  It  is  really  important." 

She  regarded  him  questioningly.  "If  that  is  true  I  will 
try,  but — I  cannot  meet  you  at  Oliveta's  house.  Be 
sides,  you  must  not  go  into  that  quarter  alone  at  night." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  inquired,  wondering  how  she 
could  know  of  his  danger. 

"Because — no  American  is  safe  there  now.  Perhaps  I 
can  meet  you  on  the  street  yonder." 

203 


THE    NET 

"I'll  be  waiting." 

"It  may  be  late,  unless  I  tell  Myra  Nell." 

"Heaven  above!  She'd  insist  on  coming,  too,  just 
because  it's  forbidden." 

"Very  well.     Now  go  before  you  are  discovered." 

During  the  afternoon  his  excitement  increased  deli 
riously,  and  that  evening  he  found  himself  paring  the 
shaded  street  near  the  La  Branche  home,  with  the  eager 
restlessness  of  a  lover. 

It  was  indeed  late  when  Vittoria  finally  appeared. 

"Myra  Nell  is  such  a  chatterbox,"  she  explained,  "that 
I  couldn't  get  her  to  bed.  Have  you  waited  long?" 

"I  dare  say.     I'm  not  sure." 

"This  is  very  exciting,  is  it  not?"  She  glanced  over 
her  shoulder  up  the  ill-lighted  street.  Rows  of  shade 
trees  cast  long  inky  blots  between  the  corner  illuminations ; 
the  houses  on  either  side  sat  well  back  in  their  yards,  in 
creasing  the  sense  of  isolation.  "It  is  quite  a  new  ex 
perience  for  me." 

"For  me,  too." 

"I  hope  we're  not  seen.  Signore  Norvin  Blake  and  a 
trained  nurse!  Oh,  the  comment!" 

"There's  a  bench  near  by  where  we  can  sit.  Passers-by 
will  take  us  for  servants." 

"You  are  the  butler,  I  am  the  maid,"  she  laughed. 

"I  am  glad  you  can  laugh,"  he  told  her.  "You  were 
very  sad,  there  at  Terranova." 

"I've  learned  the  value  of  a  smile.  Life  is  full  of 
gladness  if  we  can  only  bring  ourselves  to  see  it.  Now 
tell  me  the  meaning  of  this.  I  knew  it  must  be  impor 
tant  or  I  would  not  have  come."  Back  of  the  bench  upon 
which  she  had  seated  herself  a  jessamine  vine  depended, 
filling  the  air  with  perfume;  the  night  was  warm  and  still 
and  languorous ;  through  the  gloom  she  regarded  him  with 
curiosity. 

"I  hate  to  begin,"  he  said.  "I  dread  to  speak  of  un- 

204 


QUARANTINE 

pleasant  things — to  you.  I  wish  we  might  just  sit  here 
and  talk  of  whatever  we  pleased." 

"We  cannot  sit  here  long  on  any  account.  But  let 
me  guess.  It  is  your  work  against — those  men." 

"Exactly.  You  know  the  history  of  our  struggle  with 
the  Mafia?" 

"Everything." 

"I  am  leading  a  hard  fight,  and  I  think  you  can  help 
me." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
have  given  up  my  part.  I  have  no  desire  for  revenge." 

"Nor  have  I.  I  do  not  wish  to  harm  any  man;  but 
I  became  involved  in  this  through  a  desire  to  see  justice 
done,  and  I  have  reached  a  point  where  I  cannot  stop  or 
go  back.  It  started  with  the  arrest  of  Gian  Narcone. 
You  know  how  Donnelly  was  killed.  They  took  his  life 
for  Narcone's,  and  he,  too,  was  my — dear  friend." 

"All  this  is  familiar  to  me,"  she  said,  in  a  strained  tone. 

"I  will  tell  you  something  that  no  one  knows  but  my 
self.  I  have  a  friend  among  the  Mafiosi,  and  it  is  he, 
not  I,  who  has  brought  the  murderers  of  Mr.  Donnelly 
to  an  accounting." 

"You  know  him?" 

"  Yes.     At  least  I  think  I  do." 

"His — name?"     She  was  staring  at  him  oddly. 

"I  feel  bound  not  to  reveal  it  even  to  you.  He  has 
told  me  many  things,  among  them  that  Belisario  Cardi  is 
alive,  is  here,  and  that  it  is  he  who  worked  all  this  evil." 

"What  has  all  this  to  do  with  me?"  she  inquired. 
"Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  gave  my  search  into  other 
hands?" 

"It  was  Cardi  who  killed — one  whom  we  both  loved, 
one  for  whose  life  I  would  have  given  my  own;  it  was 
Cardi  who  destroyed  my  next-best  friend,  a  simple  soul 
who  lived  for  nothing  but  his  duty.  Now  he  has  threat 
ened  my  life  also — does  that  count  for  nothing  with  you?" 

205 


THE   NET 

She  leaned  forward,  searching  his  face  earnestly.  "You 
are  a  brave  man.  You  should  go  away  where  he  cannot 
harm  you." 

"I  would  like  very  much  to,"  he  confessed,  "but  I  am 
too  great  a  coward  to  run  away." 

"And  why  do  you  tell  me  this?" 

"I  need  your  help.  My  mysterious  friend  can  do  no 
more;  he  has  said  so.  I'm  not  equal  to  it  alone." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  as  if  yielding  to  a  feeling  long  sup 
pressed,  "I  did  so  want  to  be  rid  of  it  all,  and  now  you 
are  in  danger — the  greatest  danger.  Won't  you  give  it 
up?" 

He  shook  his  head,  puzzled  at  her  vehemence.  "I 
don't  wish  to  drag  you  into  it  against  your  will,  but 
Oliveta  lives  there  among  her  countrypeople.  She  must 
know  many  things  which  I,  as  an  outsider,  could  never 
learn.  I — need  help." 

There  was  a  long  silence  before  the  girl  said: 

"Yes,  I  will  help,  for  I  am  still  the  same  woman  you 
knew  in  Sicily.  I  am  still  full  of  hatred.  I  would  give 
my  life  to  convict  Martel's  assassins;  but  I  am  fighting 
myself.  That  is  why  I  have  gone  to  live  with  Oliveta 
until  I  have  conquered  and  am  ready  to  become  a  Sister." 

"Please  don't  say  that." 

"Oliveta,  you  know,  is  alone,"  she  went  on,  with  forced 
composure,  "and  so  I  watch  over  her.  She  is  to  be 
married  soon,  and  when  she  is  safe,  then  I  think  I  can 
return  to  the  Sisters  and  live  as  I  long  to.  It  will  be  a 
good  match,  much  better  than  I  ever  hoped  for,  and 
she  loves,  which  is  even  more  blessed  to  contemplate." 
Vittoria  laid  her  hands  impulsively  upon  his  arm.  ' '  Mean 
while  I  cannot  refuse  such  aid  as  I  can  give  you,  for  you 
have  already  suffered  too  much  through  me.  You  have 
suffered,  have  you  not?" 

"It  has  turned  my  hair  gray,"  he  laughed,  trying  not 
to  show  the  depth  of  his  feeling,  ''But  now  that 

206 


QUARANTINE 

I  know  you  are  safe  and  well  and  happy,  nothing  seems 
to  matter.  Does  Myra  Nell  know  who  you  are?" 

"No  one  knows  save  you  and  Oliveta.  If  that  child 
even  dreamed —  She  lifted  her  slender  hands  in  an 
eloquent  gesture.  "My  secret  would  be  known  in  an 
hour.  Now  I  must  go,  for  even  housemaids  must  ob 
serve  the  proprieties." 

"It's  late.    I  think  I  had  better  see  you  safely  home." 

"I  dare  say  our  watchman  has  found  himself  a  com 
fortable  bed — " 

"The  slumbers  of  night-watchmen  are  notoriously 
deep." 

"  And  Papa  La  Branche  has  finished  his  solitaire.  There 
is  no  danger." 

No  one  was  in  sight  as  they  stole  in  through  the  drive 
way  to  the  servants'  door.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
he  pressed  it  closely,  whispering: 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"After  the  quarantine.     I  can  do  nothing  until  then." 

"You  will  go  back  to  Oliveta's  house?" 

"Yes,  but  you  must  never  come  there,  even  in  day 
light."  She  thought  for  a  moment  while  he  still  retained 
her  hand.  "I  will  instruct  you  later —  She  broke  off 
suddenly,  and  at  the  same  instant  Blake  heard  a  stir  in 
the  darkness  behind  him. 

Vittoria  drew  him  quickly  into  the  black  shadows  of 
the  rear  porch,  where  they  stood  close  together,  afraid  to 
move  until  the  man  had  passed.  The  kitchen  gallery  was 
shielded  by  a  latticework  covered  with  vines,  and  Blake 
felt  reasonably  safe  within  its  shelter.  He  was  beginning 
to  breathe  easier  when  a  voice  barely  an  arm's-length 
away  inquired,  gruffly: 

"Who's  there?" 

He  would  have  given  something  handsome  to  be  out  of 
this  foolish  predicament,  which  he  knew  must  be  very 
trying  to  his  companion.  But  the  fates  were  against 

207 


THE    NET 

him.     To  his  horror,  the  man  struck  a  match  and  mount 
ing  the  steps  to  the  porch  flashed  it  directly  into  his  face. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Blake,  with  rather  a  weak 
attempt  at  assurance. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  the  guard  demanded. 
"Don't  you  know  that  this  house  is  quarantined?" 

"I  do.  Kindly  lower  your  voice;  there  are  people 
asleep." 

The  fellow's  eyes  took  in  the  girl  in  her  stiffly  starched 
uniform  before  the  match  burned  out  and  darkness  en 
gulfed  them  once  more. 

"I'm  not  a  burglar." 

"Humph!     I  don't  know  whether  you  are  or  not." 

"I  assure  you,"  urged  Vittoria. 

"Strike  another  match  and  I'll  prove  to  you  that  I'm 
not  dangerous."  When  the  light  flared  up  once  more 
Norvin  selected  a  card  from  his  case  and  handed  it  to  the 
watchman.  "I  am  Norvin  Blake,  president  of  the 
Cotton  Exchange." 

But  this  information  failed  of  the  desired  effect. 

"Oh,  I  know  you,  but  this  ain't  exactly  the  right  time 
to  be  calling  on  a  lady." 

Vittoria  felt  her  companion's  muscles  stiffen. 

"I  will  explain  my  presence  later,"  he  said,  stiffly;  then, 
turning  to  Vittoria,  "  I  am  sorry  I  disturbed  this  estimable 
man.  Good  night." 

"Just  a  minute,"  the  watchman  broke  in.  "You 
needn't  say  good  night." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"This  house  is  quarantined  for  smallpox." 

"Well?" 

"Nobody  can  come  or  go  without  the  doctor's  per 
mission." 

"I  understand  that." 

"Now  that  you're  here,  I  reckon  you'll  stay." 

Miss  Fabrizi  uttered  a  smothered  exclamation. 

208 


QUARANTINE 

"You're  crazy!"  said  Blake,  angrily. 

"Yes?    Well,  that's  my  instructions." 

"I  haven't  been  inside." 

"That  don't  make  any  difference;   the  lady  has." 

"It's  absurd.     You  can't  force — 

"  'Sh-h!"  breathed  Vittoria. 

Some  one  had  entered  the  kitchen  at  their  back.  A 
light  flashed  through  the  window,  the  door  opened,  and 
Mr.  La  Branche,  clad  in  a  rusty  satin  dressing-gown 
and  carpet  slippers,  stood  revealed,  a  lamp  in  his 
hand. 

"I  thought  I  heard  voices,"  he  said.  "What  is  the 
trouble?" 

"There's  no  trouble  at  all,  sir,"  Blake  protested,  then 
found  himself  absurdly  embarrassed. 

Vittoria  and  the  guard  both  began  to  speak  at  once, 
and  at  length  she  broke  into  laughter,  saying: 

"Poor  Mr.  Blake,  I  fear  he  has  been  exposed  to  con 
tagion.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  talk  with  me  on  a 
matter  of  importance,  and  now  this  man  tells  him  he 
cannot  leave." 

But  from  Papa  La  Branche's  expression  it  was  evident 
that  he  saw  nothing  humorous  in  the  situation. 

"To  talk  with  you!    At  this  hour!" 

"I'm  working  for  the  Board  of  Health,  and  those  are 
my  orders,"  declared  outraged  authority. 

"It  was  imperative  that  I  see  Miss  Fabrizi;  the  blame 
for  this  complication  is  entirely  mine,"  Norvin  assured 
the  old  Creole. 

The  representative  of  the  Board  of  Health  inquired, 
loudly:  "Didn't  the  doctors  tell  you  that  nobody  could 
come  or  go,  Mr.  La  Branche?" 

"They  did." 

"But,  my  dear  man,  this  is  no  ordinary  case.     Now 
that  I  have  explained,  I  shall  go,  first  apologizing  to  Mr. 
La  Branche  for  disturbing  him." 
14  2°9 


THE    NET 

"No,  you  won't." 

The  master  of  the  house  stepped  aside,  holding  his  light 
on  high. 

"Miss  Fabrizi  is  my  guest,"  he  said/quietly,  "so  no 
explanations  are  necessary.  This  man  is  but  doing  his 
duty,  and,  therefore,  Mr.  Blake,  I  fear  I  shall  have  to 
offer  you  the  poor  hospitality  of  my  roof  until  the  law 
permits  you  to  leave." 

"Impossible,   sir!     I — " 

"I  regret  that  we  have  never  met  before;  but  you  are 
welcome,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  make  you  comfort 
able."  He  waved  his  hand  commandingly  toward  the 
open  door. 

"Thank  you,  but  I  can't  accept,  really." 

"I  fear  that  you  have  no  choice." 

"But  the  idea  is  ridiculous,  preposterous!  I'm  a  busy 
man;  I  can't  shut  myself  up  this  way  for  a  week  or  more. 
Besides,  I  couldn't  allow  myself  to  be  forced  upon  strangers 
in  this  manner." 

"If  you  are  a  good  citizen,  you  will  respect  the  law," 
said  La  Branche,  coldly. 

' '  Bother  the  law !  I  have  obligations !  Why — the  very 
idea  is  absurd!  I'll  see  the  health  officers  and  explain  at 
once — " 

The  old  gentleman,  however,  still  waited,  while  the 
watchman  took  his  place  at  the  top  of  the  steps  as  if 
determined  to  do  his  duty,  come  what  might. 

Norvin  found  Vittoria's  eyes  upon  him,  and  saw  that 
beneath  her  self-possession  she  was  intensely  embarrassed. 
Evidently  there  was  nothing  to  do  now  but  accept  the 
situation  and  put  an  end  to  the  painful  scene  at  any 
sacrifice.  Once  inside,  he  could  perhaps  set  himself  right; 
but  for  the  present  no  explanations  were  possible.  He 
might  have  braved  the  Board  of  Health,  but  he  could 
not  run  away  from  Papa  La  Branche's  accusing  eye. 
Bowing  gravely,  he  said: 

2IO 


QUARANTINE 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
hospitality.  If  you  will  lead  the  way,  I  will  follow." 

The  two  culprits  entered  the  big,  empty  kitchen,  then 
followed  the  rotund  little  figure  which  waddled  ahead  of 
them  into  the  front  part  of  the  house. 


XVII 

AN   OBLIGATION   IS   MET 

MONTEGUT  LA  BRANCHE  paused  in  the  front  hall  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"It  is  late,"  he  said;  "no  doubt  Mademoiselle  wishes 
to  retire." 

"I  would  like  to  offer  a  word  of  explanation,"  Norvin 
ventured,  but  Vittoria  interposed,  quietly: 

"Mr.  La  Branche  is  right — explanations  are  unneces 
sary."  Bowing  graciously  to  them  both,  she  mounted  the 
stairs  into  the  gloom  above,  followed  by  the  old  Creole's 
polite  voice: 

"A  pleasant  sleep,  Mademoiselle,  and  happy  dreams." 
Leading  the  way  into  the  library,  he  placed  the  lamp  upon 
a  table,  then,  turning  to  his  unbidden  guest,  inquired, 
coldly,  "Well?" 

His  black  eyes  were  flashing  underneath  his  gray  brows, 
and  he  presented  a  fierce  aspect  despite  his  gown,  which 
resembled  a  Mother  Hubbard,  and  his  slippers,  which 
flapped  as  he  walked. 

"I  must  apologize  for  my  intrusion,"  said  Norvin. 
"I  wish  you  to  understand  how  it  came  about." 

"In  view  of  your  attentions  to  my  wife's  cousin,  it 
was  unfortunate  that  you  should  have  selected  this  time, 
this  place,  for  your — er — adventure." 

"Exactly!  I'm  wondering  how  to  spare  Miss  Warren 
any  annoyance." 

"I  fear  that  will  be  impossible.  She  must  know  the 
truth." 

"She  must  not  know;  she  must  not  guess." 

213 


AN   OBLIGATION    IS    MET 

"M'sieu!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "My  wife  and  I 
can  take  no  part  in  your  intrigues.  Myra  Nell  is  too 
well  bred  to  show  resentment  at  your  conduct,  no  matter 
what  may  be  her  feelings." 

Norvin  flushed  with  exasperation,  then  suddenly  felt 
ashamed  of  himself.  Surely  he  could  trust  this  chivalrous 
old  soul  with  a  part  of  the  truth.  Once  his  scruples  were 
satisfied,  the  man's  very  sense  of  honor  would  prevent 
him  from  even  thinking  of  what  did  not  concern  him. 

"I  think  you  will  understand  better,"  he  said,  "when 
you  have  heard  me  through.  I  can't  tell  you  everything, 
for  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  do  so.  But  you  know,  perhaps, 
that  I  am  connected  with  the  Committee  of  Justice." 

"I  do." 

"You  don't  know  the  full  extent  of  the  task  with 
which  I  am  charged,  however." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Its  gravity  may  be  understood  when  you  know  that 
I  have  been  marked  for  the  same  fate  as  Chief  Donnelly." 

The  old  man  started. 

"My  labors  have  taken  me  into  many  quarters.  I 
seek  information  through  many  channels.  It  was  upon 
this  business,  in  a  way,  that  I  came  to  see  Miss  Fabrizi." 

"I  do  not  follow  you." 

"She  is  a  Sicilian.  She  knows  much  which  would  be 
of  value  to  the  Committee  and  to  me.  It  was  necessary 
for  me  to  see  her  alone  and  secretly.  If  the  truth  were 
known  it  would  mean  her — life,  perhaps." 

The  Creole's  bearing  altered  instantly. 

"Say  no  more.  I  believe  you  to  be  a  man  of  honor, 
and  I  apologize  for  my  suspicions." 

"May  I  trust  you  to  respect  this  confidence?" 

"It  is  sealed." 

"But  this  doesn't  entirely  relieve  the  situation.  I 
can't  explain  to  Madame  La  Branche  or  to  Miss  Myra 
Nell  even  as  much  as  I've  explained  to  you." 

213 


THE    NET 

"Some  day  will  you  relieve  me  from  my  promise  of 
secrecy?"  queried  the  old  man,  with  an  eager,  bird-like 
glance  from  his  bright  eyes. 

"Assuredly.  As  soon  as  we  have  won  our  fight  against 
the  Mafia." 

"Then  I  will  lie  for  you,  and  confess  later.  I  have 
never  lied  to  my  wife,  M'sieu — except  upon  rare  occa 
sions."  Mr.  La  Branche  chuckled  merrily.  "And  even 
then  only  about  trifles.  So,  the  result?  Absolute  trust; 
supreme  confidence  on  her  part.  A  happy  state  for  man 
and  wife,  is  it  not?  Ha!  I  am  a  very  good  liar,  an 
adept,  as  you  shall  see,  for  I  am  not  calloused  by  practice 
and  therefore  liable  to  forgetfulness.  With  me  a  lie  is 
always  fresh  in  my  mind;  it  is  a  matter  of  absorbing  in 
terest,  hence  I  do  not  forget  myself.  Heaven  knows  the 
excitement  of  nursing  an  innocent  deceit  and  of  seeing 
it  grow  and  flower  under  my  care  will  be  most  welcome, 
for  the  monotony  of  this  abominable  confinement —  But 
I  must  inquire,  do  you  play  piquet?" 

"I  am  rather  good  at  it,"  Norvin  confessed,  whereat 
Papa  La  Branche  seemed  about  to  embrace  him. 

"You  are  sent  from  heaven!"  he  declared.  "You  de 
liver  me  from  darkness.  Thirty-seven  games  of  Na 
poleon  to-day!  Think  of  it!  I  was  dealing  the  thirty- 
eighth  when  you  came.  But  piquet !  Ah,  that  is  a  game, 
even  though  my  angel  wife  abominates  it.  We  have  still 
five  days  of  this  hideous  imprisonment,  so  let  us  agree 
to  an  hour  before  lunch,  an  hour  before  dinner,  then — 
um-m — perhaps  two  hours  in  the  evening  at  a  few  cents 
a  game,  eh?  You  agree,  my  friend?"  The  little  man 
peered  up  timidly.  "Perhaps — but  no,  I  dare  say  you 
are  sleepy,  and  it  is  late." 

"I  should  enjoy  a  game  or  two  right  now,"  Norvin 
falsified.  "But  first,  don't  you  think  we'd  better  re 
hearse  our  explanation  of  my  presence?" 

"A  good  idea.  You  came  to  see  me  upon  business. 

214 


AN   OBLIGATION   IS   MET 

I  telephoned,  and  you  came  like  a  good  friend,  then — 
let  me  see,  I  was  so  overjoyed  to  see  a  new  face  that  I 
rushed  forth  to  greet  you,  and  behold!  that  scorpion, 
that  loathsome  reptile  outside  pronounced  you  infected. 
He  forced  you  to  enter,  even  against  my  protestations. 
It  was  all  my  fault.  I  am  desolated  with  regrets.  Eh? 
How  is  that?  You  see  nature  designed  me  for  a  rogue." 

"Excellent!     But  what  is  our  important  business?" 

"True.  Since  I  retired  from  active  affairs  I  have  no 
business.  That  is  awkward,  is  it  not?  May  I  ask  in 
what  line  you  are  engaged?" 

"I  am  a  cotton  factor." 

"Then  I  shall  open  an  account  with  you.  I  shall  give 
you  money  to  invest.  Come,  there  need  be  no  deceit 
about  that;  I  shall  write  you  a  check  at  once." 

"That's  hardly  necessary,  so  long  as  we  understand 
each  other." 

But  Mr.  La  Branche  insisted,  saying: 

"One  lie  is  all  that  I  dare  undertake.  I  have  told  two 
at  the  same  time,  but  invariably  they  clashed  and  dis 
aster  resulted.  There!  I  trust  you  to  make  use  of  the 
money  as  you  think  best.  But  enough !  What  do  women 
know  of  business?  It  is  a  mysterious  word  to  them. 
Now — piquet!"  He  dragged  Norvin  to  a  seat  at  a 
table,  then  trotted  away  in  search  of  cards,  his  slippers 
clap-clapping  at  every  step  as  if  in  gleeful  applause. 
"Shall  we  cut  for  deal,  M'sieu?  Ah!"  He  sighed  grate 
fully  as  he  won,  and  began  to  shuffle.  "With  four  hours 
of  piquet  every  day,  and  a  lie  upon  my  conscience,  I  feel 
that  I  shall  be  happy  in  spite  of  this  execrable  small 
pox." 

Myra  Nell's  emotions  may  be  imagined  when,  on  the 
following  morning,  she  learned  who  had  broken  through 
the  cordon  while  she  slept. 

"Lordy!  Lordy!"  she  exclaimed,  with  round  eyes. 
"  He  said  he'd  do  it;  but  I  didn't  think  he  really  would." 

215 


THE    NET 

She  had  flounced  into  Vittoria's  room  to  gossip  while 
she  combed  her  hair. 

"Mr.  La  Branche  says  it's  all  his  fault,  and  he's  ter 
ribly  grieved,"  Miss  Fabrizi  told  her.  "Now,  now! 
Your  eyes  are  fairly  popping  out." 

"Wouldn't  your  eyes  pop  out  if  the  handsomest,  the 
richest,  the  bravest  man  in  New  Orleans  deliberately  took 
his  life  in  his  hands  to  see  you  and  be  near  you?" 

"But  he  says  it  was  important  business  which  brought 
him."  Vittoria  smiled  guiltily. 

"Tell  that  to  your  granny!  You  don't  know  men  as 
I  do.  Have  you  really  seen  him?  I'm  not  dreaming?" 

"I  have  seen  him,  with  these  very  eyes,  and  if  you  were 
not  such  a  lazy  little  pig  you'd  have  seen  him,  too.  Shall 
you  take  your  breakfast  in  your  room,  as  usual?"  Vit 
toria's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Don't  tease  me!"  Miss  Warren  exclaimed,  with  a 
furious  blush.  "I — I  love  to  tease  other  people,  but  I 
can't  stand  it  myself.  Breakfast  in  my  room,  indeed! 
But  of  course  I  shall  treat  him  with  freezing  politeness." 

"Why  should  you  pretend  to  be  offended?" 

"Don't  you  understand?  This  is  bound  to  cause  gos 
sip.  Why,  the  idea  of  Norvin  Blake,  the  handsomest, 
the  richest — 

"Yes,  yes." 

"The  idea  of  his  getting  himself  quarantined  in  the 
same  house  with  me,  and  our  being  here  together  for 
days — maybe  for  months!  Why,  it  will  create  the  love 
liest  scandal.  I'll  never  dare  hold  up  my  head  again  in 
public,  never.  You  see  how  it  must  make  me  feel.  I'm 
compromised."  Myra  Nell  undertook  to  show  horror 
in  her  features,  but  burst  into  a  gale  of  laughter. 

"Do  you  care  for  him  very  much?" 

"I'm  crazy  about  him!  Why,  dearie,  after  this — 
we're — we're  almost  married !  Now  watch  me  show  him 
how  deeply  I'm  offended." 

216 


AN    OBLIGATION    IS    MET 

But  when  she  appeared  in  the  dining-room,  late  as 
usual,  her  frigidity  was  not  especially  marked.  On  the 
contrary,  her  face  rippled  into  one  smile  after  another, 
and  seizing  Blake  by  both  hands,  she  danced  around  him, 
singing: 

"You  did  it!  You  did  it!  You  did  it!  Hurrah  for  a 
jolly  life  in  the  pest-house!" 

Madame  La  Branche  was  inclined  to  be  shocked  at 
this  behavior,  but  inasmuch  as  Papa  Montegut  was  beam 
ing  angelically  upon  the  two  young  people,  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  mollified. 

"I  couldn't  believe  Vittoria,"  Myra  Nell  told  Norvin. 
"Don't  you  know  the  danger  you  run?" 

Mr.  La  Branche  exclaimed:  "I  am  desolated  at  the 
consequences  of  my  selfishness!  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink. 
I  can  never  atone." 

"Quite  right,"  his  wife  agreed.  "You  must  have  been 
mad,  Montegut.  It  was  criminal  of  you  to  rush  forth 
and  embrace  him  in  that  manner." 

"But,  delight  of  my  soul,  the  news  he  bore!  The  joy 
of  seeing  him!  It  unmanned  me."  The  Creole  waved 
his  hands  wildly,  as  if  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"Oh,  you  fibber!  Norvin  told  me  he'd  never  met 
you,"  said  Myra  Nell. 

"Eh!  Impossible!  We  are  associates  in  business; 
business  of  a  most  important —  But  what  does  that 
term  signify  to  you,  my  precious  ladybird?  Nothing! 
Enough,  then,  to  say  that  he  saved  me  from  disaster. 
Naturally  I  was  overjoyed  and  forgot  myself." 

His  wife  inquired,  timidly,  "Have  your  affairs  gone 
disastrously?" 

"Worse  than  that!  Ruin  stared  us  in  the  face  until 
he  came.  Our  deliverer!" 

Blake  flushed  at  this  fulsome  extravagance,  particu 
larly  as  he  saw  Myra  Nell  making  faces  at  him. 

"Fortunately  everything  is  arranged  now,"  he  assured 

217 


THE    NET 

his  hostess.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  Miss  Warren,  who, 
with  apparent  innocence,  questioned  the  two  men  until 
Papa  La  Branche  began  to  bog  and  flounder  in  his  ex 
planations.  Fortunately  for  the  men,  she  was  diverted 
for  the  moment  by  discovering  that  the  table  was  set 
for  only  four. 

"Oh,  we  need  another  place,"  she  exclaimed,  "for 
Vittoria!" 

The  old  lady  said,  quietly:  "No,  dear.  While  we  were 
alone  it  was  permissible,  but  it  is  better  now  in  this  way." 

Myra  Nell's  ready  acquiescence  was  a  shock  to  Norvin, 
arguing,  as  it  did,  that  these  people  regarded  the  Countess 
Margherita  as  an  employee.  Could  it  be  that  they  were 
so  utterly  blind? 

He  was  allowed  little  time  for  such  thoughts,  however, 
since  Myra  Nell  set  herself  to  the  agreeable  task  of  un 
masking  her  lover  and  confounding  Montegut  La  Branche. 
But  Cousin  Althea  was  not  of  a  suspicious  nature,  and 
continued  to  beam  upon,  her  husband,  albeit  a  trifle 
vaguely.  Then  when  breakfast  was  out  of  the  way  the 
girl  added  to  Norvin's  embarrassment  by  flirting  with 
him  so  outrageously  that  he  was  glad  to  flee  to  Papa 
Montegut's  piquet  game. 

At  the  first  opportunity  he  said  to  Vittoria:  "I  feel 
dreadfully  about  this.  Why,  they  seem  to  think  you're 
a — a — servant!  It's  unbearable!" 

"That  is  part  of  my  work;  I  am  accustomed  to  it." 
She  smiled. 

"Then  you  have  changed.  But  if  they  knew  the  truth, 
how  differently  they'd  act!" 

"They  must  never  suspect;  more  depends  upon  it  than 
you  know." 

"I  feel  horribly  guilty,  all  the  same." 

"It  can  make  no  difference  what  they  think  of  me. 
I'm  afraid,  however,  that  you  have — made  it — difficult 
for  Myra  Nell." 

218 


AN   OBLIGATION    IS    MET 

"So  it  appears.  I  didn't  think  of  her  when  I  entered 
this  delightful  prison." 

"You  had  no  choice." 

"It  wasn't  altogether  that.  I  wanted  to  be  near  you, 
Vittoria." 

Her  glance  was  level  and  cool,  her  voice  steady.  "It 
was  chivalrous  to  try  to  spare  me  the  necessity  of  ex 
plaining.  The  situation  was  trying;  but  we  were  both 
to  blame,  and  now  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Myra 
Nell's  misunderstanding  is  complete,  and  she  will  be  un 
happy  unless  you  devote  yourself  to  her." 

"I  simply  can't.  -I  think  I'll  keep  to  myself  as  much 
as  possible." 

"You  don't  know  that  girl,"  Vittoria  said.  "You 
think  she  is  frivolous  and  inconsequent,  that  she  has  the 
brightness  of  a  sunbeam  and  no  more  substance;  but 
you  are  mistaken.  She  is  good  and  true  and  steadfast 
underneath,  and  she  can  feel  deeply." 

Blake  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  isolate  him 
self.  Mr.  La  Branche  clung  to  him  like  a  drowning  man; 
his  business  affairs  called  him  repeatedly  to  the  telephone ; 
Myra  Nell  appropriated  him  with  all  the  calm  assurance 
of  a  queen,  and  Madame  La  Branche  insisted  upon  seeing 
personally  to  his  every  want.  The  only  person  of  whom 
he  saw  little  was  Vittoria  Fabrizi. 

His  disappearance,  of  course,  required  much  explaining 
and  long  conversations  with  his  office,  with  his  associates, 
and  with  police  headquarters,  where  his  plight  was  re 
garded  as  a  great  joke.  This  was  all  very  well;  but  there 
were  other  and  unforeseen  consequences. 

Bernie  Dreux  heard  of  the  affair  with  blank  amazement, 
which  turned  into  something  resembling  rage.  His  duty, 
however,  was  plain.  He  packed  a  valise  and  set  out  for 
the  quarantined  house  like  a  man  marching  to  his  execu 
tion;  for  he  had  a  deathly  horror  of  disease,  and  small 
pox  was  beyond  compare  the  most  loathsome. 

219 


THE    NET 

But  the  Health  Department  had  given  strict  orders, 
and  he  was  turned  away;  nay,  he  was  rudely  repulsed. 
Crushed,  humiliated,  he  retired  to  his  club,  and  there  it 
was  that  Rilleau  found  him,  steeped  in  melancholy  and  a 
very  insidious  brand  of  Kentucky  Bourbon. 

When  Lecompte  accused  Blake  of  breaking  the  rules 
of  the  game,  the  little  bachelor  rose  resolutely  to  his 
sister's  defense. 

"Norvin's  got  a  perfect  right  to  protect  her,"  he  lied, 
"and  I  honor  him  for  it." 

"You  mean  he's  engaged  to  her?"  Rilleau  inquired, 
blankly. 

Bernie  nodded. 

"Well,  so  am  I,  so  are  Delevan  and  Marigny,  and  the 
others." 

"Not  this  way."  Mr.  Dreux's  alcoholic  flush  deep 
ened.  "He  thought  she  was  in  danger,  so  he  flew  to  her 
side.  Mighty  unselfish  to  sacrifice  his  business  and  brave 
the  disease.  He  did  it  with  my  consent,  y'understand  ? 
When  he  asked  me,  I  said,  'Norvin,  my  boy,  she  needs 
you.'  So  he  went.  Unselfish  is  no  word  for  it;  he's  a 
man  of  honor,  a  hero." 

Mr.  Rilleau's  gloom  thickened,  and  he,  too,  ordered 
the  famous  Bourbon.  He  sighed. 

"I'd  have  done  the  same  thing;  I  offered  to,  and  I'm 
no  hero.  I  suppose  that  ends  us.  It's  a  great  disap 
pointment,  though.  I  hoped — during  Carnival  week 
that  she'd —  Well,  I  wanted  her  for  my  real  queen." 

Bernie  undertook  to  clap  the  speaker  on  the  shoulder 
and  admonish  him  to  buck  up ;  but  his  eye  was  wavering 
and  his  aim  so  uncertain  that  he  knocked  off  Mr.  Ril 
leau's  hat.  With  due  apologies  he  ran  on: 

"She  couldn't  have  been  queen  at  all,  only  for  him. 
He  made  it  possible." 

"I  had  as  much  to  say  about  it  as  he  did." 

Bernie  whispered:  "He  lent  me  the  money,  y'under- 

220 


AN   OBLIGATION   IS    MET 

stand?  It  was  all  right,  under  the  circumstances,  every 
thing  being  settled  but  the  date,  y' under  stand?" 

Rilleau  rose  at  last,  saying:  "You're  all  to  be  con 
gratulated.  He  is  the  best  fellow  in  New  Orleans,  and 
there's  only  one  man  I'd  rather  see  your  sister  marry 
than  him;  that's  me.  Now  I'm  going  to  select  a  present 
before  the  rush  commences.  What  would  you  think  of 
an  onyx  clock  with  gold  cupids  straddling  around  over 
it?" 

"Fine!  I'm  sorry,  old  man — I  like  you,  y'under- 
stand?"  Bernie  upset  his  chair  in  rising  to  embrace  his 
friend,  then  catching  sight  of  August  Kulm,  who  entered 
at  the  moment,  he  made  his  way  to  him  and  repeated 
his  explanations. 

Mr.  Kulm  was  silent,  attentive,  despairing,  and  spoke 
vaguely  of  suicide,  whereupon  Dreux  set  himself  to  the 
task  of  drowning  this  Teutonic  instinct  in  the  flowing 
bowl. 

"I  don't  know  what  has  happened  to  the  boys,"  Myra 
Nell  complained  to  Norvin,  on  the  second  day  after  his 
arrival.  "Lecompte  was  going  to  read  me  the  Rubaiyat, 
and  Raymond  Cline  promised  me  a  bunch  of  orchids; 
but  nobody  has  shown  up." 

"It's  jealousy,"  he  said,  lightly. 

"I  suppose  so.  Of  course  it  was  nice  of  you  to  com 
promise  me  this  way — it's  delicious,  in  fact — but  I  didn't 
think  it  would  scare  off  the  others." 

"You  think  I  have  compromised  you?" 

"You  know  you  have,  terribly.  I'm  engaged  to  all  of 
them — everybody,  in  fact,  except  you — " 

"But  they  know  my  presence  here  is  unintentional." 

"Oh!    Is  it,  really?"     She  laughed. 

"Don't  you  believe  it  is?" 

"Goodness!  Don't  spoil  all  my  pleasure.  If  ever  I 
saw  two  cringing,  self-conscious  criminals,  it's  you  and 

321 


THE    NET 

Papa  Montegut.  Men  are  so  deceitful.  Heigh-ho!  I 
thought  this  was  going  to  be  splendid,  but  you  play  cards 
all  day  with  Mr.  La  Branche  while  I  die  of  loneliness." 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  do?"  he  faltered. 

"I  don't  know.  It's  very  dull.  Couldn't  you  sally 
forth  and  drag  in  Lecompte  or  Murray  or  Raymond?" 
She  looked  up  with  eyes  beaming.  "Bernie  was  furious, 
wasn't  he?" 

Mr.  La  Branche  came  ^trotting  in  with  the  evening 
newspaper  in  his  hand.  "It's  in  the  paper,"  he  chuckled. 
"Those  reporters  get  everything." 

"What's  in  the  paper?"  Myra  Nell  snatched  the  sheet 
from  his  hand  and  read  eagerly  as  he  went  trotting  out 
again  with  his  slippers  applauding  every  step.  "Oh, 
Lordy!" 

Blake  read  over  her  shoulder,  and  his  face  flushed. 

"Norvin,  we're  really,  truly  engaged,  now.  See!" 
After  a  pause,  "And  you've  never  even  asked  me." 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  say. 

"Myra  Nell,"  he  began,  "I  want  you —    Will  you — " 

"Oh,  you  goose,  you're  not  taking  a  cold  shower!" 

"Will  you  do  me  the  honor  to  be  my  wife?" 

She  burst  into  delightful  laughter.  "So  you  actually 
have  the  courage  to  propose?  Shall  I  take  time  to  think 
it  over,  or  shall  I  answer  now?" 

"Now,  by  all  means." 

"Very  well,  of  course  I — won't." 

"Why  not?"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  start. 

"The  idea!    You  don't  mean  it!" 

"I  do." 

"Why,  Norvin,  you're  old  enough  to  be  my  father." 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not." 

"Do  you  think  I  could  marry  a  man  with  gray  hair?'' 

"It  all  gets  gray  after  a  while." 

"No.  I'll  be  engaged  to  you,  but  I'll  never  marry 
any  one,  never.  That  would  spoil  all  the  fun.  This  very 

222 


AN   OBLIGATION    IS    MET 

thing  shows  how  stupid  it  must  be;  the  mere  rumor  has 
scared  the  others  away." 

"You're  a  Mormon." 

"I'm  not.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do;  if  I  ever  marry 
any  one,  I'll  marry  you." 

"That's  altogether  too  indefinite." 

"I  don't  see  it.     Meanwhile  we're  engaged,  aren't  we?" 

"If  that's  the  case —  He  reached  uncertainly  for 
her  hand,  and  pressed  it.  "I— I'm  very  happy!" 

She  waited  an  instant,  watching  him  shyly,  then  said: 
"Now  I  must  show  this  to  Vittoria.  But — please  don't 
look  so  frightened." 

The  next  instant  she  was  gone.  When  Miss  Fabrizi 
entered  her  room,  a  half-hour  later,  it  was  to  find  her 
with  her  eyes  red  from  weeping. 

As  for  Norvin,  he  had  risen  to  the  occasion  as  best  he 
could.  He  loved  Myra  Nell  sincerely,  tenderly,  in  a 
big-brotherly  way;  he  would  have  gone  to  any  lengths  to 
serve  her,  yet  he  could  not  feel  toward  her  as  he  felt  tow 
ard  Vittoria  Fabrizi.  He  nerved  himself  to  stand  by 
his  word,  even  though  it  meant  the  greatest  sacrifice. 
But  the  thought  agonized  him. 

Nor  was  he  made  more  easy  as  time  went  on,  for  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  La  Branche  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was 
their  cousin's  affianced  lover;  and  while  the  girl  herself 
now  bewildered  him  with  her  shy,  inviting  coquetry,  or 
again  berated  him  for  placing  her  in  an  unwelcome  posi 
tion,  he  could  never  determine  how  much  she  really 
cared. 

When  the  quarantine  was  finally  lifted  he  walked  out 
with  feelings  akin  to  those  of  a  prisoner  who  has  been 
reprieved. 


XVIII 

BELISARIO    CARDI 

AFTER  his  enforced  idleness  Blake  was  keen  to  resume 
his  task,  yet  there  was  little  for  him  to  do  save  study 
the  one  big  problem  which  lay  at  the  root  of  the  whole 
matter. 

The  evidence  against  the  prisoners  was  in  good  shape; 
they  were  indicted,  and  the  trial  date  would  soon  be  set. 
They  had  hired  competent  lawyers  and  were  preparing 
for  a  desperate  fight.  Where  the  necessary  money  came 
from  nobody  seemed  to  know,  although  it  was  generally 
felt  that  a  powerful  influence  was  at  work  to  free  them. 
The  district  attorney  expressed  the  strongest  hopes  of 
obtaining  convictions;  but  there  came  disturbing  rumors 
of  alibis  for  the  accused,  of  manufactured  evidence,  and 
of  overwhelming  surprises  to  be  sprung  at  the  last  mo 
ment.  Detectives  were  shadowed  by  other  detectives, 
lawyers  were  spied  upon,  their  plans  leaked  out;  wit 
nesses  for  the  State  disappeared.  Opposing  the  authori 
ties  was  a  master  hand,  at  once  so  cunning  and  so  bold  as 
to  threaten  a  miscarriage  of  justice. 

This  could  be  none  other  then  Belisario  Cardi,  yet  he 
seemed  no  nearer  discovery  than  ever.  Norvin  had  no 
idea  how  to  proceed.  He  could  only  wait  for  some  word 
from  his  new  ally,  Vittoria  Fabrizi.  It  might  be  that  she 
would  find  a  clue,  and  he  feared  to  complicate  matters  by 
any  premature  or  ill-judged  action.  Meanwhile,  he  en 
countered  the  results  of  Bernie  Dreux's  garrulity.  He 
found  himself  generally  regarded  as  Myra  Nell's  ac- 

224 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

cepted  suitor,  and,  of  course,  could  make  no  denial. 
But  when  he  telephoned  to  the  girl  herself  and  asked 
when  he  might  call  he  was  surprised  to  hear  her  say: 

"You  can't  call  at  all  Why,  you've  ruined  all  my 
enjoyment  as  it  is!  There  hasn't  been  a  man  in  this 
whole  neighborhood  since  I  came  home.  Even  the  police 
man  takes  the  other  side  of  the  street." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  come." 

"I  won't  have  you  hanging  around  until  I  get  my 
Carnival  dresses  fitted.  Oh,  Norvin,  you  ought  to  see 
them.  There's  one — white  brocaded  peau  de  soie,  all 
frills  and  rosebuds;  the  bodice  is  trimmed  with  pearl 
passementerie,  and  it's  a  dear."  After  a  moment's  hesi 
tation  she  added:  "Norvin  dear,  what  does  it  cost  to 
rent  the  front  page  of  a  newspaper?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  don't  think  it  can  be  done." 

"I  wondered  if  you  couldn't  do  it  and — deny  our 
engagement." 

"Do  you  want  to  break  it?"  He  could  hardly  keep 
the  eagerness  out  of  his  voice. 

1 '  Oh,  no !  But  I'd  like  to  deny  it  until  after  the  Carnival. 
Now  don't  be  offended.  I'll  never  get  my  dances  filled 
if  I'm  as  good  as  married  to  you.  Imagine  a  queen  with 
an  empty  programme.  I  just  love  you  to  pieces,  of  course, 
but  I  can't  allow  our  engagement  to  interfere  with  the 
success  of  the  Carnival,  can  I?" 

"Don't  you  know  this  is  a  thing  we  can't  joke  about?" 

"Of  course  I  do.     It  has  taught  me  a  good  lesson." 

"What?" 

"I'll  never  be  engaged  to  another  man." 

"Well!  I  should  hope  not.  Do  you  intend  to  marry 
me,  Myra  Nell?" 

"I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  think  I  will,  then  again 
I'm  afraid  nobody'd  ever  come  to  see  me  if  I  did.  I'll 
get  old,  like  you." 

"I'm  not  old." 
15  225 


THE   NET 

"We'd  both  have  gray  hair  and —  I  can't  talk  any 
more.  Here  comes  Bernie  with  an  armful  of  dresses  and 
a  mouthful  of  pins.  If  he  coughs  I'll  be  all  alone  in  the 
world.  No,  you  can't  see  me  for  a  week.  I  don't  even 
want  to  hear  from  you  except — " 

"What?" 

"Well,  the  strain  of  dress-fitting  is  tremendous.  I'm 
nearly  always  hungry — ravenous  for  nourishment." 

"You  mean  you're  out  of  candy,  I  suppose?" 

"Practically.  There's  hardly  a  whole  piece  left. 
They've  all  been  nibbled." 

Blake  did  not  know  whether  to  feel  amused  or  ashamed. 
He  was  relieved  at  the  girl's  apparent  carelessness,  yet 
this  half-serious  engagement  had  put  Myra  Nell  in  a  new 
light.  He  could  not  think  of  their  relations  as  really  un 
changed,  and  this  was  inevitable  since  his  sentiment  for 
her  was  genuine.  The  grotesqueness  of  the  affair — even 
Myra  Nell's  own  attitude  toward  it — seemed  a  violation 
of  something  sacred. 

But  nothing  could  subdue  the  joy  he  felt  in  his  growing 
intimacy  with  Vittoria,  whom  he  managed  to  see  frequent 
ly,  although  she  never  permitted  him  to  come  to  Oliveta's 
house.  Little  by  little  her  reserve  melted,  and  more  and 
more  she  seemed  to  forget  her  intention  of  devoting  her 
self  to  a  religious  life,  while  fears  for  her  friend's  safety 
appealed  to  the  deep  mother  instinct  which  had  remained 
latent  in  her. 

She  was  unable,  however,  even  with  Oliveta's  assist 
ance,  to  put  any  information  in  his  way,  and  Blake  could 
think  of  no  better  plan  than  to  try  once  more  to  sound 
Caesar  Maruffi.  If  Caesar  had  really  written  the  letters, 
it  would  be  strange  if  he  could  not  be  induced  to  go  farther, 
despite  his  obvious  fear  of  Cardi.  It  was  unbelievable 
that  a  man  who  knew  so  much  about  the  Mafia  was  really 
in  ignorance  of  its  leader's  identity,  and  Blake  was  con 
vinced  that  if  he  acted  diplomatically  and  seized  the 

226 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

right  occasion  he  could  bring  the  fellow  to  unbosom  him 
self. 

Discarding  all  thought  of  his  own  safety,  he  went  often 
to  the  Red  Wing  Club.  But  he  found  Caesar  wary,  and 
he  dared  not  be  too  abrupt.  Time  and  again  he  was 
upon  the  verge  of  speaking  out,  but  something  invariably 
prevented,  some  inner  voice  warned  him  that  the  man's 
mood  was  unpropitious,  that  his  extravagant  caution 
was  not  yet  satisfied.  He  allowed  the  Sicilian  to  feel 
him  out  to  his  heart's  content,  and,  at  last,  seeing  that  he 
made  no  real  progress,  he  set  out  one  evening  resolved  to 
risk  all  in  an  effort  to  reach  some  definite  understanding. 

He  was  delayed  in  reaching  the  foreign  quarter,  and 
the  dinner-hour  was  nearly  over  when  he  arrived  at  the 
cafe.  Maruffi  was  there,  as  usual,  but  he  had  finished  his 
meal  and  was  playing  cards  with  some  of  his  countrymen, 
swarthy,  eager-faced,  voluble  fellows  whose  chatter  filled 
the  place.  They  greeted  Norvin  politely  as  he  seated 
himself  near  by,  then  went  on  with  their  amusement  as  he 
ordered  and  ate  his  dinner.  He  was  near  enough  to  hear 
their  talk,  and  to  catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  game, 
so  that  he  was  not  long  in  finding  that  they  played  for 
considerable  stakes.  They  were  as  earnest  as  school-boys, 
and  he  watched  their  ever-changing  expressions  with  in 
terest,  particularly  when  he  discovered  that  Maruffi  was 
in  hard  luck.  The  big  Sicilian  sat  bulked  up  in  a  corner, 
black,  silent,  and  sinister,  his  scowling  brows  bespeaking 
his  rage.  Occasionally  he  growled  a  curse,  then  sent  the 
waiter  scurrying  with  an  order.  Other  Italians  were 
drawn  to  the  scene  and  crowded  about  the  players. 

When  Norvin  had  finished  his  meal  he  sat  back  to  smoke 
and  idly  sip  his  claret,  thinking  he  would  wait  until  the 
game  broke  up,  so  that  he  might  get  Caesar  to  himself 
and  perhaps  put  the  issue  to  the  test.  He  began  to  study 
the  fellow's  face,  thinking  what  force,  what  passion  lay  in 
it,  puzzling  his  brain  for  some  means  of  enlisting  that 

227 


THE   NET 

energy  upon  his  side.  But  as  fortune  continued  to  run 
against  Maruffi,  he  began  to  fear  that  the  time  was  not 
favorable. 

What  a  picture  those  laughing,  hawk-like  men  formed, 
surrounding  the  black,  resentful  merchant!  Martel 
Savigno  could  have  drawn  a  group  like  that,  he  mused, 
for  he  had  a  rare  appreciation  of  his  own  people,  no  mat 
ter  what  might  be  said  of  his  talent.  He  had  done  some 
very  creditable  Sicilian  sketches;  in  fact,  Norvin  had  one 
framed  in  his  room.  What  a  pity  the  Count  had  been 
stricken  in  the  first  years  of  his  promise!  What  a  ruth 
less  hand  it  was  that  had  destroyed  him !  What  a  giant 
mind  it  was  which  had  kept  all  Sicily  in  terror  and  sealed 
its  lips! 

In  that  very  group  yonder  there  probably  was  more  than 
one  who  knew  the  evil  genius  in  person,  and  yet  they  were 
held  in  a  thralldom  of  fear  which  no  offer  of  riches  could 
break.  What  manner  of  man  was  this  Cardi?  What 
hellish  methods  did  he  follow  to  wield  such  despotism? 
Those  card-players  were  impudent,  unscrupulous  blades, 
as  ready  to  gamble  with  death  as  with  their  jingling  coins, 
and  yet  they  dared  not  lift  a  hand  against  him. 

Blake  saw  that  the  game  had  reached  a  point  of  un 
usual  intensity;  the  players  were  deeply  engrossed;  the 
spectators  had  fallen  silent,  with  bright  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  mounting  stakes.  When  the  tension  broke  Norvin 
saw  that  Caesar  had  lost  again,  and  smiled  at  the  excited 
conversation  which  ensued.  There  was  a  babble  of 
laughter,  of  curses,  of  expostulation,  shafts  of  badinage 
flew  at  the  Sicilian  merchant.  In  the  midst  of  it  he 
raised  a  huge,  hairy  fist  and  brought  it  down,  smiting  the 
table  until  the  coins,  the  cards,  and  the  glasses  leaped. 
His  face  was  distorted;  his  voice  was  thick  with  passion. 

"Silensiot"  he  growled,  with  such  imperative  fury  that 
the  others  fell  silent;  then  hoarsely:  "I  play  my  own 
game,  and  I  lose.  That  is  all!  You  are  like  old  wives 


'SILENZIO!"    HE    GROWLED,    "l    PLAY    MY    OWN    GAME,    AND    I    LOSE' 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

with  your  advice.  It  is  my  accursed  luck,  which  will 
some  day  bring  me  to  the  gallows.  Now  deal!" 

That  same  nausea  which  invariably  seized  Norvin 
Blake  in  moments  of  extreme  excitement  swept  over  him 
now.  His  whole  body  went  cold,  the  knot  of  figures 
faded  from  his  vision,  he  heard  the  noisy  voices  as  if 
from  a  great  distance.  A  giant  hand  had  reached  forth 
and  gripped  him,  halting  his  breath  and  his  heart-beats. 
The  room  swam  dizzily,  in  a  haze. 

He  found,  an  instant  later,  that  he  had  risen  and  was 
gripping  the  table  in  front  of  him  as  if  for  support.  He 
had  upset  his  goblet  of  wine,  and  a  wide  red  stain  was 
spreading  over  the  white  cloth.  To  him  it  was  the  blood 
of  Martel  Savigno.  He  stared  down  at  it  dazedly,  his 
eyes  glazed  with  horror  and  surprise. 

As  the  crimson  splotch  widened  his  heart  took  up  its 
halting  labors,  then  began  to  race,  faster  and  faster,  until 
he  felt  himself  smothering;  his  frame  was  swept  with 
tremors.  Then  the  raucous  voices  grew  louder  and 
louder,  mounting  into  a  roar,  as  if  he  were  coming  out 
from  a  swoon,  and  all  the  time  that  red  blotch  grew  until 
he  could  see  no  other  color;  it  blurred  the  room  and  the 
quarreling  gamblers;  it  steeped  the  very  air.  He  was 
still  deathly  sick,  as  only  those  men  are  whose  blood 
sours,  whose  bones  and  muscles  disintegrate  at  the  touch 
of  fear. 

He  did  not  remember  leaving  the  place,  but  found  the 
cool  night  air  fanning  fresh  upon  his  face  as  he  lurched 
blindly  down  the  dark  street,  within  his  eyes  the  picture 
of  a  scowling,  black-browed  visage ;  in  his  ears  that  hoarse, 
unforgettable  command,  "  Silenzio!" 

A  single  word,  burdened  with  rage  and  venom,  had  car 
ried  him  back  over  the  years  to  a  certain  moment  and  a 
certain  spot  on  a  Sicilian  mountain-side.  The  peculiar 
arrogance,  the  harsh  vibrations  of  that  voice  permitted 
no  mistake.  He  saw  again  a  ghost-gray  road  walled  in 

229 


THE    NET 

with  fearful  shadows,  and  at  his  feet  two  silent,  twisted 
bodies  dimly  outlined  against  the  dust.  A  match  flared 
and  Ricardo  Ferara  grinned  up  into  the  night  beneath 
his  grizzled  mustache.  Narcone,  the  butcher,  his  hands 
still  wet,  was  whining  for  the  blood  of  the  American. 
He  heard  Martel  Savigno  call,  heard  the  young  Count's 
voice  rise  and  break  in  a  shriek,  heard  a  thunder  of  hoofs 
retreating  into  the  blackness.  Sicilian  men  were  peering 
into  his  face,  talking  excitedly;  through  their  chatter 
came  that  same  voice,  imperative,  furious,  filled  with 
rage,  and  it  cried: 

"Silenzio!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  it.  The  veil  was  ripped  at 
last. 

Blake  recalled  the  dim  outlines  of  that  burly,  bull- 
necked  figure  as  it  had  leaped  into  brief  silhouette  against 
the  glare  of  the  blazing  match,  that  night  so  long  ago, 
and  then  he  cried  out  aloud  in  the  empty  street  as  he 
realized  how  complete  was  the  identification.  He  remem 
bered  Donnelly's  vague  prediction  five  minutes  before  he 
was  stricken: 

"If  what  I  suspect  is  true,  it  will  cause  a  sensation." 

A  sensation  indeed!  The  surprise,  the  realization  of 
consequences,  was  too  overpowering  to  permit  coherent 
thought.  This  Maruffi,  or  Cardi,  or  whoever  he  might 
prove  to  be,  was  tremendous.  No  wonder  he  had  been 
hard  to  uncover.  No  wonder  his  power  was  absolute. 
He  had  the  genius  of  a  great  general,  a  great  politician, 
and  a  great  criminal,  all  in  one,  and  he  was  as  pitiless  as 
a  panther,  more  deadly  than  a  moccasin.  What  influence 
had  perverted  such  intellect  into  a  weapon  of  iniquity? 
What  evil  of  the  blood,  what  lesion  of  the  brain,  had  dis 
torted  his  instincts  so  monstrously? 

Caesar  Maruffi,  rich,  respected,  honored!  It  was  un 
believable. 

Blake  halted  after  a  time  and  took  note  of  the  sur- 

230 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

roundings  into  which  his  feet  had  led  him.  He  was 
deep  in  the  foreign  quarter,  and  found,  with  a  start, 
that  he  had  been  heading  for  Vittoria  Fabrizi's  dwelling 
as  if  guided  by  some  extraneous  power.  By  a  strong 
exercise  of  will  he  calmed  himself.  What  he  needed 
above  all  things  was  counsel,  some  one  with  whom  he 
could  share  this  amazing  discovery.  Perhaps  his  pres 
ence  here  was  a  sign;  at  any  rate,  he  decided  to  follow  his 
first  impulse,  so  hastened  onward. 

Inside  the  house  his  brain  cleared  in  a  measure,  as  he 
waited;  but  his  agitation  must  have  left  plain  traces,  for 
no  sooner  had  Vittoria  appeared  than  she  exclaimed: 

"My  friend!     Something  has  happened." 

He  rose  and  met  her  half-way.  "Yes.  Something 
tremendous,  something  terrible." 

"It  was  unwise  of  you  to  come  here — you  may  be  fol 
lowed.  Tell  me  quickly  what  has  made  you  so  indis 
creet?" 

"I  have  found  Belisario  Cardi." 

She  paled;  her  eyes  flamed. 

"Yes — it's  incredible."  His  voice  shook.  "I  know 
the  man  well,  that's  the  marvel  of  it.  I've  trusted  him; 
I've  rubbed  shoulders  with  him;  I  went  to  him  to-night 
to  enlist  his  aid."  He  paused,  realizing  for  the  first  time 
that  the  mystery  of  those  letters  was  now  deeper  than 
ever.  If  Maruffi  had  not  written  them,  who  then?  "He's 
the  best  and  richest  Italian  in  the  city.  God!  The  thing 
is  appalling." 

"He  must  go  to  justice,"  said  Vittoria,  quietly.  "His 
name?" 

"OesarMaruffi!" 

The  girl's  eager  look  faded  into  one  of  blank  dismay. 

"No!"  she  said,  strangely.     "No!" 

"Do  you  know  him?" 

In  a  daze  she  nodded;  then  cast  a  hurried,  frightened 
look  over  her  shoulder. 

231 


THE    NET 

"Madonna  mia!  Caesar  Maruffi!"  Disbelief  and  hor 
ror  leaped  into  her  eyes.  "You  are  mad!  Not  Cassar. 
I  do  not  believe  it." 

"Cassar,  C&sar!"  he  cried.  "Why  do  you  call  him 
that?  Why  do  you  doubt?  What  is  he  to  you?" 

She  drew  away  with  a  look  that  brought  him  to  his 
senses. 

"There  is  no  mistake,"  he  mumbled.  "He  is  Cardi. 
I  know  it.  I — " 

"Wait,  wait;  don't  tell  me."  She  went  groping  un 
certainly  to  the  door.  "Don't  tell  me  yet." 

A  moment  later  he  heard  her  call: 

"Oliveta!  Come  quickly,  sorella  mia.  A  friend. 
Quickly!" 

Oliveta — recognizably  the  same  girl  that  he  had  known 
in  Sicily — entered  with  her  black  brows  lifted  in  anxious 
inquiry,  her  dark  eyes  wide  with  apprehension. 

"Some  evil  has  befallen;  tell  me!"  she  said,  wasting  no 
time  in  greeting. 

"No.     Nothing  evil,"  Blake  assured  her. 

"Our  friend  has  made  a  terrible  discovery,"  said  Vit- 
toria,  in  a  faint  voice.  ' '  I  cannot  believe —  I — want  you 
to  hear,  carina."  She  motioned  to  Norvin. 

"I  have  been  seeking  our  enemy,  Belisario  Cardi,  and 
— I  have  found  him." 

Oliveta  cried  out  in  fierce  triumph:  "God  be  praised! 
He  lives;  that  is  enough.  I  feared  he  had  cheated  us." 

"Listen!"  exclaimed  Vittoria,  in  such  a  tone  that  the 
peasant  girl  started.  "You  don't  understand." 

"I  understand  nothing  except  that  he  lives.  His  blood 
shall  wash  our  blood.  That  is  what  we  swore,  and  I  have 
never  forgotten,  even  though  you  have.  He  shall  go  to 
meet  his  dead,  and  his  soul  shall  be  accursed."  She  spoke 
with  the  same  hysterical  ferocity  as  when  she  had  cursed 
her  father's  murderer  in  the  castello  of  Terranova. 

"He  calls  himself  Cassar  Maruffi,"  Blake  told  her. 

232 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

There  was  a  pause,  then  she  said,  simply:  "That  is  a 
lie." 

"No,  no!  I  saw  him  that  night.  I  saw  him  again  to 
night." 

"It  cannot  be." 

"That  is  what  I  have  said,"  concurred  Vittoria,  with 
strange  eagerness.  "No,  no — it  would  be  too  dreadful." 

Mystified  and  offended,  Blake  defended  his  statement 
forcibly.  "Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  please,  it  is  true. 
That  night  in  Sicily  he  came  among  the  brigands  who 
held  me  prisoner.  They  were  talking  excitedly.  He 
cried,  'Silenzio!'  in  a  voice  I  can  never  forget.  To-night 
he  was  gambling,  and  he  lost  heavily.  He  was  furious; 
his  friends  began  to  chatter,  and  he  cried  that  word  again ! 
I  would  know  it  a  thousand  years  hence.  I  saw  it  all  in 
a  flash.  I  saw  other  things  I  had  failed  to  grasp — his 
size,  his  appearance.  I  tell  you  he  is  Belisario  Cardi." 

"God  help  me!"  whispered  the  daughter  of  Ferara, 
crossing  herself  with  uncertain  hand.  She  was  staring 
affrightedly  at  Vittoria.  "God  help  me!"  She  kept 
repeating  the  words  and  gesture. 

Blake  turned  inquiringly  to  the  other  woman  and  read 
the  truth  in  her  eyes. 

' '  Good  Lord !"  he  cried.     "  He  is  her—' ' 

She  nodded.     "They  were  to  be  married." 

Oliveta  began  speaking  slowly  to  her  foster  sister. 
"Yes,  it  is  indeed  true.  I  have  suspected  something, 
but  I  dared  not  tell  you  all — the  things  he  said — all  that 
I  half  learned  and  would  not  ask  about.  I  was  afraid  to 
know.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  my  ears.  Body  of  Christ! 
And  all  the  time  my  father's  blood  was  on  his  hands!" 

Vittoria  appealed  helplessly  to  Blake.  "You  see  how 
it  is.  What  is  to  be  done?" 

But  his  attention  was  all  centered  upon  Oliveta,  whose 
face  was  changing  curiously. 

"His  blood!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  have  loved  that 

233 


THE    NET 

infamous  man.  His  hands —  She  let  her  gaze  fall  to 
her  own,  as  if  they  too  might  be  stained  from  contact. 

"Does  Maruffi  know  who  you  really  are?"  he  asked. 

Vittoria  answered:  "No.  She  would  have  told  him 
soon ;  we  were  waiting  until  we  had  run  down  those  men. 
You  see,  it  was  largely  through  her  that  I  worked.  Those 
things  which  I  could  not  discover  she  learned  from — him. 
It  was  she  who  secured  the  names  of  Di  Marco  and 
Garcia  and  the  others." 

Sudden  enlightenment  brought  a  cry  from  him. 

"You!  Then  you  wrote  those  letters!  You  are  the 
'One  Who  Knows'?" 

Vittoria  nodded;  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
girl. 

Oliveta  was  whispering  through  white  lips:  "It  is  the 
will  of  God!  He  has  been  delivered  into  my  hands." 

"I  am  beginning  to — 

"Wait!"  Vittoria  did  not  withdraw  her  anxious  gaze. 
After  an  instant  she  inquired,  gently,  "Oliveta,  what  shall 
we  do?" 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  do." 

"You  mean — 

"I  have  been  sent  by  God  to  betray  him."  Her  face 
became  convulsed,  her  voice  harsh.  "I  curse  him,  living 
and  dead,  in  the  name  of  my  father,  in  the  name  of  Martel 
Savigno,  who  died  by  his  hand.  May  he  pray  unheard, 
may  he  burn  in  agony  for  a  thousand  thousand  years. 
Take  him  to  the  hangman,  Signore.  He  shall  die  with 
my  curse  in  his  ears." 

"I  can't  bring  him  to  justice,"  Blake  confessed.  "I 
know  him  to  be  the  assassin,  but  my  mere  word  isn't 
enough  to  convict  him.  I  have  no  way  of  connecting 
him  with  the  murder  of  Chief  Donnelly,  and  that  is  what 
he  must  answer  for." 

Oliveta's  lips  writhed  into  a  tortured  smile.  "Never 
fear,  I  shall  place  the  loop  about  his  neck  where  my  arms 

234 


BELISARIO   CARDI 

have  lain.  He  has  told  me  little,  for  I  feared  to  listen. 
But  wait!  Give  me  time." 

Vittoria  cried  in  a  shocked  voice:  "Child!  Not — 
that." 

"It  was  from  him  I  learned  of  Gian  Narcone  and  his 
other  friends;  now  I  shall  learn  from  his  own  mouth  the 
whole  truth.  He  shall  weave  the  rope  for  his  own  de 
struction.  Oh,  he  is  like  water  in  my  hands,  and  I  shall 
lie  in  his  arms — " 

"Lucrezia!     You  can't  touch  him — knowing — " 

"I  will  have  the  truth,  if  I  give  myself  to  him  in  pay 
ment,  if  I  am  damned  for  eternity.  God  has  chosen 
me!" 

She  broke  down  into  frightful  sobs.  With  sisterly 
affection  the  other  woman  put  her  arms  about  her  and 
tried  to  soothe  her.  At  length  she  led  her  away,  but  for 
a  long  time  Norvin  could  hear  sounds  of  the  peasant 
girl's  grief.  When  Vittoria  reappeared  her  face  was  still 
pale  and  troubled. 

"I  can  do  nothing  with  her.  She  seems  to  think  we 
are  all  divine  instruments." 

"Poor  girl!  She  is  in  a  frightful  position.  I'm  too 
amazed  to  talk  sensibly.  But  surely  she  won't  persist." 

"You  do  not  know  her;  she  is  like  iron.  Even  I  have 
no  power  over  her  now,  and  I — fear  for  the  result.  She 
is  Sicilian  to  the  core,  she  will  sacrifice  her  body,  her  soul, 
for  vengeance,  and  that — man  is  a  fiend." 

"It's  better  to  know  the  truth  now  than  later." 

"Yes,  the  web  of  chance  has  entangled  our  enemies 
and  delivered  them  bound  into  our  hands.  We  cannot 
question  the  wisdom  of  that  power  which  wove  the  net. 
Oliveta  is  perhaps  a  stronger  instrument  than  I ;  she  will 
never  rest  until  her  father  is  avenged." 

"The  strangest  part  is  that  you  are  the  'One  Who 
Knows.'  You  told  me  you  had  given  up  the  quest." 

"And  so  I  had.  I  was  weary  of  it.  My  life  was  bleak 

235 


THE    NET 

and  empty.  I  could  not  return  to  Sicily,  because  of  the 
memories  it  held.  We  came  South  in  answer  to  the  call 
of  our  blood,  and  I  took  up  a  work  of  love  instead  of 
hate,  while  Oliveta  found  a  new  interest  in  this  man, 
who  was  wonderful  and  strong  and  fierce  in  his  devotion 
to  her.  I  attained  to  that  peace  for  which  I  had  prayed. 
Then,  when  I  was  nearly  ready  for  my  vows,  my  foster 
sister  learned  of  Gian  Narcone  and  came  to  me.  We 
talked  long  together,  and  I  finally  yielded  to  her  demands 
— she  is  a  contadina,  she  never  forgets — and  I  wrote  that 
first  letter  to  Mr.  Donnelly.  I  feared  you  might  see  and 
recognize  my  handwriting,  so  I  bought  one  of  those  new 
machines  and  learned  to  use  it.  What  followed  you 
know.  When  we  discovered  that  the  Mafia  had  vowed 
to  take  Chief  Donnelly's  life  in  payment  for  Narcone's, 
we  were  forced  to  go  on  or  have  innocent  blood  upon  our 
hands. 

"The  Chief  was  killed  in  spite  of  our  warnings,  and  then 
you  appeared  as  the  head  of  his  avengers — you — my 
truest  friend,  the  brother  of  Martel.  I  knew  that  the 
Mafia  would  have  your  life  unless  you  crushed  it,  and  in 
a  sense  I  was  responsible  for  your  danger.  It  seemed 
my  duty  to  help  break  up  this  accursed  brotherhood, 
much  as  I  wished  that  the  work  might  fall  to  other  hands. 
Oliveta  was  eager  for  the  struggle,  and  while  she  fought 
for  her  vengeance,  I — I  fought  to  save  you." 

"You  did  this  for  me!"  he  cried,  falteringly. 

"Yes.  My  position  at  the  hospital,  my  occupation 
made  it  easy  for  me  to  learn  many  things.  It  was  I  who 
discovered  the  men  who  actually  killed  Chief  Donnelly; 
for  Normando,  after  his  injury,  was  brought  there  and 
I  attended  him.  I  learned  of  his  accomplices,  where  the 
boy,  Gino  Cressi,  was  concealed,  and  other  things.  Lu- 
crezia  was  a  spy  here  among  her  countrypeople,  and 
Caesar  was  forever  dropping  bits  of  information,  though 
we  never  dreamed  who  he  was." 

236 


BELISARIO    CARDI 

She  went  to  the  long  French  window,  and,  shading  her 
eyes  with  her  hands,  peered  down  into  the  dark  street. 

"Then  you  have — thought  of  me,"  he  urged.  "You 
thought  of  me  even  before  we  were  drawn  together  by 
this  net  of  chance?" 

"You  have  seldom  been  out  of  my  thoughts,"  she  told 
him,  quietly.  "You  were  my  only  friend,  and  I  live  a 
lonely  life."  Turning  with  a  wistful  smile,  she  asked: 
"And  have  you  now  and  then  remembered  that  Sicilian 
girl  you  knew  so  long  ago?" 

His  voice  was  unruly;  it  broke  as  he  replied:  "Your 
face  is  always  before  me,  Contessa.  I  grew  very  tired 
of  waiting,  but  I  always  felt  that  I  would  find  you." 

She  gave  him  her  two  hands.  "The  thought  of  your 
affection  and  loyalty  has  meant  much  to  me;  and  it  will 
always  mean  much.  When  I  have  entered  upon  my  new 
life  and  know  that  you  are  happy  in  yours — 

"But  I  never  shall  be  happy,"  he  broke  out,  hoarsely. 

She  stopped  him  with  a  grave  look. 

"Please!  You  must  go  now.  I  will  show  you  a  way. 
So  long  as  Cardi  is  at  liberty  you  must  not  return;  the 
risks  are  too  great  for  all  of  us.  As  Oliveta  learns  the 
truth  I  shall  advise  you.  Poor  girl,  she  needs  me  to 
night.  Come!" 

She  led  him  through  the  house,  down  a  stairway  into 
the  courtyard,  and  directed  him  into  a  narrow  passage 
way  which  led  out  to  the  street  behind.  "Even  this 
is  not  safe,  for  they  may  be  waiting."  She  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm  and  said,  earnestly,  "You  will  be  careful?" 

"I  will." 

He  fought  down  the  wild  impulse  to  take  her  in  his 
arms.  As  he  skulked  through  the  gloom,  searching  the 
darkest  shadows  like  a  criminal,  his  fear  was  gone,  and 
in  his  heart  was  something  singing  joyously. 


XIX 

FELICITE 

"YOU'RE  just  the  man  I'm  looking  for,"  Bernie  Dreux 
told  Norvin,  whom  he  chanced  to  meet  on  the  following 
morning.  "I've  made  a  discovery." 

"Indeed!    What  is  it?" 

"Hist!  The  walls  have  ears."  Bernie  cast  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  busy,  sunlit  street  and  the  hurry 
ing  crowds.  "Come!"  With  a  melodramatic  air  he  led 
Blake  into  a  coffee-house  near  by.  "You  can't  guess  it !" 
he  exclaimed,  when  they  were  seated. 

"And  what's  more,  I  won't  try.  You're  getting  too 
mysterious,  Bernie." 

"I've  found  him." 

"Whom?" 

"The  bell-cow;  the  boss  dago;  the  chief  head-hunter; 
Belisario  Cardi!" 

Blake  started  and  the  smile  died  from  his  lips.  Dreux 
ran  on  with  some  heat: 

"Oh,  don't  look  so  skeptical.  Any  man  with  intelli 
gence  and  courage  can  become  as  good  a  detective  as  I 
am.  I've  found  your  Capo-Mafia,  that's  all." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"You  won't  believe  me;  but  he's  well  thought  of.  You 
know  him;  O'Neil  knows  him.  He's  generally  trusted." 

Norvin  began  to  suspect  that  by  some  freak  of  fortune 
his  little  friend  had  indeed  stumbled  upon  the  truth. 
Dreux  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  beaming  tri 
umphantly. 

238 


"Come,  come!    What's  his  name?" 

"Joe  Poggi." 

"Poggi?  He's  the  owner  of  that  fruit-stand  you've 
been  watching." 

"Exactly!     Chief  Donnelly  suspected  him." 

"Nonsense!"  Norvin's  face  was  twitching  once  more. 
"Poggi  is  on  the  force;  he's  a  detective,  like  you." 

"Come  off!"     Bernie  was  shocked  and  incredulous. 

"Have  you  shadowed  him  for  months  without  learning 
that  he's  an  officer?" 

"I — I —    He's  the  fellow,  just  the  same." 

"Oh,  Bernie,  you'd  better  stick  to  the  antique  busi 
ness." 

Mr.  Dreux  flushed  angrily.  "If  he  isn't  one  of  the 
gang,"  he  cried,  "what  was  he  doing  with  Salvatore  di 
Marco  and  Frank  Garcia  the  night  after  Donnelly's 
murder?  What's  he  doing  now  with  Caesar  Maruffi  if 
he  isn't  after  him  for  money?" 

Blake's  amusement  suddenly  gave  place  to  eagerness. 

"Maruffi!"  he  exclaimed.     "What's  this?" 

"Joe  Poggi  is  blackmailing  Caesar  Maruffi  out  of  the 
money  to  defend  his  friends.  He  was  at  di  Marco's 
house  an  hour  before  Salvatore's  arrest.  I  saw  him  with 
Garcia  and  Bolla  and  Cardoni  more  than  once." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  this  to  O'Neil?" 

"I  tried  to,  but  he  wouldn't  listen.  When  I  said  I 
was  a  detective  he  laughed  in  my  face,  and  we  had  a 
scene.  He  told  me  I  couldn't  find  a  ham  at  a  Hebrew 
picnic.  Since  then  I've  been  working  alone.  Poggi  has 
been  lying  low  lately,  but —  Bernie  hesitated,  and  a 
slight  flush  stole  into  his  cheeks.  "I've  become  ac 
quainted  with  his  wife — we're  good  friends." 

"And  what  have  you  learned  from  her?" 

"Nothing  directly;  but  I  think  she's  acting  as  her  hus 
band's  agent,  collecting  blackmail  to  hire  lawyers  for 
the  defense.  Poor  Caesar !  he's  rich,  and  Poggi  is  bleeding 

239 


THE    NET 

him.  Since  Joe  is  on  the  police  force  he  knows  every 
thing  that  goes  on.  No  wonder  you  can't  break  up  the 
Mafia!" 

"By  Jove!"  said  Norvin.  "I  was  warned  of  a  leak  in 
the  department.  But  it  couldn't  be  Poggi!" 

He  began  to  question  Bernie  with  a  peremptoriness  and 
rapidity  that  made  the  little  man  blink.  Mingled  with 
much  that  was  grotesque  and  irrelevant,  he  drew  out  a 
fairly  credible  story  of  nocturnal  meetings  between  the 
Italian  detective  and  Caesar  Maruffi,  which,  taken  in 
connection  with  what  he  already  knew,  was  most  dis 
turbing. 

"How  did  you  come  to  meet  Mrs.  Poggi?"  he  inquired, 
at  last. 

The  question  brought  that  same  flush  to  Mr.  Dreux's 
cheeks. 

"She  found  I  was  following  her  one  day,"  he  explained, 
"so  I  told  her  I  was  smitten  by  her  beauty.  I  got  away 
with  it,  too.  Rather  clever,  for  an  amateur,  eh?" 

"Is  she  good-looking?" 

Bernie  nodded.  "She's  an  outrageous  flirt,  though, 
and — oh,  what  a  temper!"  He  shuddered  nervously. 
"Why,  she'd  stick  a  knife  into  me  or  bite  my  ears 
off  if  she  suspected.  She's  insanely  jealous." 

"It's  not  a  nice  position  for  you." 

"No.  But  I've  something  far  worse  than  her  on  my 
hands — Felicite".  She's  more  to  be  feared  than  the 
Mafia." 

"Surely  Miss  Delord  isn't  dangerous." 

"Isn't  she?"  mocked  the  bachelor.  "You  ought  to 
see — "  He  started,  his  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  the 
entrance  to  the  cafe  with  a  look  of  horror,  he  paled  and 
cast  a  hurried  glance  around  as  if  in  search  of  a  means 
of  escape.  "Here  she  is  now!" 

Norvin  turned  to  behold  Miss  Delord  approaching 
them  like  an  arrow.  She  was  a  tiny  creature,  but  it  was 

240 


FELICITE 

plain  that  she  was  out  in  all  her  fighting  strength.  Her 
pretty  face  was  dark  with  passion,  her  eyes  were  flashing, 
and  they  pierced  her  lover  with  a  terrible  glance  as  she 
paused  before  him,  crying  furiously: 

"Well?     Where  is  she?" 

"Felicite,"  stammered  Dreux,  "d-don't  cause  a  scene." 

Miss  Delord  stamped  a  ridiculously  small  foot  and 
cried  again,  oblivious  of  all  save  her  black  jealousy: 

"Where  is  she,  I  say?  Eh?  You  fear  to  answer. 
You  shield  her,  perhaps."  A  plump  brown  hand  darted 
forth  and  seized  Bernie  by  the  ear,  giving  it  a  tweak 
like  the  bite  of  a  parrot. 

"Ouch!"  he  exclaimed,  loudly.  "Felicite,  you'll  ruin 
us!" 

A  waiter  began  to  laugh  in  smothered  tones. 

"Tell  me,"  stormed  the  diminutive  fury.  "It  is  time 
we  had  a  settlement,  she  and  I.  I  will  lead  you  to  her 
by  those  ass's  ears  of  yours  and  let  her  hear  the  truth 
from  your  own  mouth." 

"Miss  Delord,  you  do  Bernie  an  injustice,"  Norvin 
said,  placatingly. 

She  turned  swiftly.  "Injustice?  Bah!  He  is  a  flirt, 
a  loathsome  trifler.  What  could  be  more  abominable?" 

"Felicite!  D-don't  make  a  scene,"  groaned  the  un 
happy  Dreux,  nursing  his  ear  and  staring  about  the  cafe* 
with  frightened,  appealing  eyes. 

"Bernie  was  just — 

"You  defend  him,  eh?"  stormed  the  Creole  girl.  "You 
are  his  friend.  Beware,  M'sieu,  that  I  do  not  pull  your 
ears  also.  I  came  here  to  unmask  him." 

"Please  sit  down.     You're  attracting  attention." 

"Attention!  Yes!  But  this  is  nothing  to  what  will 
follow.  I  shall  make  known  his  depravity  to  the  whole 
city,  for  he  has  sweethearts  like  that  King  Solomon  of 
old.  It  is  his  beauty,  M'sieu!  Listen!  He  loves  a 
married  woman!  Imagine  it!" 
16  241 


THE    NET 

' '  Felicit6 !    For  Heaven's  sake — ' ' 

"A  dago  woman  by  the  name  of  Piggy.  But  wait,  I 
shall  make  her  squeal.  Piggy !  A  suitable  name,  indeed ! 
He  follows  her  about;  he  meets  her  secretly;  he  adores 
her,  the  scoundrel!  Is  it  not  disgusting?  But  I  am  no 
fool.  I,  too,  have  watched;  I  have  followed  them  both, 
and  I  shall  scratch  her  black  face  until  it  bleeds,  then  I 
shall  tell  her  husband  the  whole  truth." 

Miss  Delord  paused,  out  of  breath  for  the  moment, 
while  Bernie  pawed  at  her  in  a  futile  manner.  Beads  of 
perspiration  were  gathering  upon  his  brow  and  he  seemed 
upon  the  verge  of  swooning.  As  if  from  habit,  however, 
he  reached  forth  a  trembling  hand  and  deftly  replaced  a 
loose  hairpin,  then  tucked  in  a  stray  lock  which  Felicite's 
vehemence  had  disarranged. 

"Y-your  hat's  on  one  side,  my  dear,"  he  told  her. 

She  tossed  her  head  and  drew  away,  saying,  "Your 
touch  contaminates  me — monster!" 

Blake  drew  out  a  chair  for  her;  his  eyes  were  twink 
ling  as  he  said,  "Won't  you  allow  him  to  explain?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  explain,  since  I  know  everything. 
See!  His  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He 
quails !  He  cannot  even  lie !  But  wait  until  I  have  told 
the  Piggy's  husband — that  big,  black  ruffian — then  per 
haps  he  will  find  his  voice.  Ah,  if  I  had  found  that  woman 
here  there  would  have  been  a  scene,  I  promise  you." 

"Help  me — out,"  gasped  Mr.  Dreux,  and  Norvin  came 
willingly  to  his  friend's  rescue. 

"Bernie  loves  no  one  but  you,"  he  said. 

"So?     I  glory  in  the  fact  that  I  loathe  him." 

"Please  sit  down." 

"No!"  Miss  Delord  plumped  herself  down  upon  the 
edge  of  the  proffered  seat,  her  toes  barely  touching  the 
floor. 

"I'm — working  Mrs.  Poggi,"  Bernie  explained.  "I'm 
a — detective." 

242 


FELICITE 

"What  new  falsehood  is  this?" 

"No  falsehood  at  all,"  Norvin  told  her.  "He  is  a 
detective — a  very  fine  one,  too — and  he  has  been  work 
ing  on  the  Mafia  case  for  a  long  time.  It  has  been  part 
of  his  work  to  follow  the  Poggis.  Please  don't  allow  your 
jealousy  to  ruin  everything." 

"I  am  not  jealous.  I  merely  will  not  let  him  love 
another,  that  is  all.  But  what  is  this  you  say?"  Her 
velvet  eyes  had  lost  a  little  of  their  hardness;  they  were 
as  round  as  buttons  and  fixed  inquiringly  upon  the 
speaker. 

"You  must  believe  me,"  he  said,  impressively,  "though 
I  can't  tell  you  more.  Even  of  this  you  mustn't  breathe 
a  word  to  any  one.  Mr.  Dreux  has  had  to  permit  this 
misunderstanding,  much  against  his  will,  because  of  the 
secrecy  imposed  upon  him." 

With  wonderful  quickness  the  anger  died  out  of  Fe- 
Iicit6's  face,  to  be  replaced  by  a  look  of  sweetness. 

"A  detective!"  she  cried,  turning  to  Bernie.  "You 
work  for  the  public  good,  at  the  risk  of  your  life?  And 
that  dago  woman  is  one  of  the  Mafia?  What  a  noble 
work!  You  forgive  me?" 

Instantly  Mr.  Dreux's  embarrassment  left  him  and  he 
assumed  a  chilling  haughtiness. 

"Forgive  you?  After  such  a  scene?  My  dear  girl, 
that's  asking  a  good  deal." 

Felicite's  lips  trembled,  her  eyes,  as  they  turned  to 
Norvin,  held  such  an  appeal  that  he  hastened  to  reassure 
her. 

"Of  course  he  forgives  you.  He's  delighted  that  you 
care  enough  to  be  jealous." 

Bernie  grinned,  whereupon  his  peppery  sweetheart 
exploded  angrily: 

"You  delight  in  my  unhappiness,  villain!  You  enjoy 
my  sufferings!  Very  well!  You  have  flirted;  I  shall 
flirt,  You  drive  me  to  distraction;  I  shall  behave  ac- 

243 


THE   NET 

cordingly.  That  Antoine  Giroux  worships  me  and  would 
buy  a  ring  for  me  to-morrow  if  I  would  consent." 

"I'll  murder  him!"  exclaimed  Dreux,  with  more  sav 
agery  than  his  friend  believed  was  in  him. 

"Now,  don't  start  all  over  again,"  Blake  cautioned 
them.  "You  are  mad  about  each  other — " 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  declared  Felicite'. 

"At  least  Bernie  worships  you." 

The  girl  fell  silent  and  beamed  openly  upon  her  lover. 

"Why  don't  you  two  end  this  sort  of  misunderstanding 
and — marry?" 

Miss  Delord  paled  at  this  bold  question.  Dreux 
gasped  and  flushed  dully,  but  seemed  to  find  no  words. 

"That  is  impossible,"  he  said,  finally. 

"It's  nothing  of  the  sort,"  urged  Blake.  "You 
think  you're  happy  this  way,  but  you're  not  and  never 
will  be.  You're  letting  the  best  years  of  your  lives 
escape.  Why  care  what  people  say  if  you're  happy  with 
each  other  and  unhappy  when  apart?" 

To  his  surprise,  the  girl  turned  upon  him  fiercely. 
"Do  not  torture  Bernie  so,"  she  cried.  "There  are  rea 
sons  why  he  cannot  marry.  I  love  him,  he  adores  me; 
that  is  enough."  Two  tears  gathered  and  stole  down  her 
smooth  cheeks.  "You  are  cruel  to  hurt  him  so,  M'sieu." 

"Bernie,  you're  a  coward!"  Blake  said,  with  some  de 
gree  of  feeling,  but  the  girl  flew  once  more  to  her  lover's 
defense. 

"Coward,  indeed!  His  bravery  is  unbelievable.  Does 
he  not  risk  his  life  for  this  miserable  Committee  of  yours? 
He  has  the  courage  of  a  thousand  lions." 

"I  admire  your  loyalty — and  of  course  it's  really  not 
my  affair,  although — •  Why  don't  you  go  out  to  the 
park  where  the  birds  are  singing,  and  talk  it  all  over? 
Those  birds  are  always  glad  to  welcome  lovers.  Mean 
while  I'll  look  into  the  Poggi  matter." 

Bernie  was  glad  enough  to  end  the  scene,  and  he  arose 

244 


FELICITE 

with  alacrity;  but  his  face  was  very  red  and  he  avoided 
the  eye  of  his  friend.  As  for  Miss  Delord,  now  that  her 
doubts  were  quelled,  she  was  as  sparkling  and  as  cheerful 
as  an  April  morning. 

If  Bernie  Dreux  supposed  that  his  troubles  for  the  day 
had  ended  with  that  stormy  scene  in  the  cafe",  he  was 
greatly  mistaken.  He  had  promised  Felicite  that  he 
would  fly  to  her  with  the  coming  of  dusk,  and  that  neither 
the  claims  of  duty  nor  of  family  should  keep  him  from 
her  side.  But  that  evening  Myra  Nell  seized  upon  him 
as  he  was  cautiously  tiptoeing  past  her  door  on  his  way 
out.  The  tone  of  her  greeting  gave  him  an  unpleasant 
start. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,  young  man,"  she  said. 

Now  nobody,  save  Myra  Nell,  ever  assumed  the  poetic 
license  of  calling  Bernie  "young  man,"  and  even  she  did 
so  only  upon  momentous  occasions.  A  quick  glance  at 
her  face  confirmed  his  premonition  of  an  uncomfortable 
half-hour. 

"I  haven't  a  cent,  really,"  he  said,  desperately. 

"This  isn't  about  money."  She  was  very  grave.  "It 
is  something  far  more  serious." 

"Then  what  can  it  be?"  he  inquired,  in  a  tone  of  mild 
surprise. 

But  she  deigned  no  explanation  until  she  had  led  him 
into  the  library,  waved  him  imperiously  to  a  seat  upon 
the  hair-cloth  sofa,  and  composed  herself  on  a  chair 
facing  him.  Reflecting  that  he  was  already  late  for  his 
appointment,  he  wriggled  uncomfortably  under  her  gaze. 

"Well?"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  Something  in  her 
bearing  caused  his  spirits  to  continue  their  downward 
course.  Her  brow  was  furrowed  with  a  somber  portent. 

"Yes'm,"  he  said,  nervously,  quite  like  a  small  school 
boy  whose  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  sunshine  outside. 

"I've  heard  the  truth." 


THE   NET 

"Yes'm,"  he  repeated,  vaguely. 

"Needless  to  say  I'm  crushed." 

Bernie  slowly  whitened  as  the  meaning  of  his  sister's 
words  sank  in.  He  seemed  to  melt,  to  settle  together, 
and  his  eyes  filled  with  a  strange,  hunted  expression. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  demanded,  thickly. 

"You  know,  very  well." 

"Do  I?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"This  is  the  first  disgrace  which  has  ever  fallen  upon 
us,  and  I'm  heartbroken." 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  protested,  in  a  voice  so  faint 
she  could  scarcely  hear  him.  But  his  pallor  increased; 
he  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  couch,  clutching  it  nervously 
as  if  it  had  begun  to  move  under  him.  He  really  felt 
dizzy.  Myra  Nell  had  a  bottle  of  smelling-salts  in  her 
room,  and  he  thought  of  asking  her  to  fetch  it. 

"Even  yet  I  can't  believe  it  of  you,"  she  continued. 
"The  idea  that  you,  my  protector,  the  one  man  upon 
whom  I've  always  looked  with  reverence  and  respect; 
you,  my  sole  remaining  relative.  .  .  .  The  idea  that  you 
should  be  entangled  in  a  miserable  intrigue.  .  .  .  Why, 
it's  appalling!"  Her  lips  quivered,  tears  welled  into  her 
eyes,  seeing  which  the  little  man  felt  himself  strangling. 

"Don't!"  he  cried,  miserably.  "I  didn't  think  you'd 
ever  find  it  out." 

"I  seem  to  be  the  only  one  who  doesn't  know  all 
about  it."  Myra  Nell  shuddered. 

"I  simply  couldn't  help  it,"  he  told  her.  "I'm  human 
and  I've  been  in  love  for  years." 

"But  think  what  people  are  saying." 

He  passed  a  shaking  hand  over  his  forehead,  which  had 
grown  damp.  "One  never  realizes  the  outcome  of  these 
things  until  too  late.  I  hoped  you'd  never  discover  it. 
I've  done  everything  I  could  to  conceal  it." 

"That's  the  terrible  part — your  double  life.  Don't 

246 


FELICITE 

you  know  it's  wrong,  wicked,  vile?  I  can't  really  believe 
it  of  you.  Why,  you're  my  own  brother !  The  honor  of 
our  name  rests  upon  you.  The — the  idea  that  you  should 
fall  a  victim  to  the  wiles  of  a  low,  vulgar — 

Bernie  stiffened  his  back  and  his  colorless  eyes  flashed. 

"Myra  Nell,  she's  nothing  like  that!"  he  declared. 
"You  don't  know  her." 

"Perhaps.  But  didn't  you  think  of  me?"  He  nodded 
his  head.  "Didn't  you  realize  it  meant  my  social  ruin?" 
Again  he  nodded,  his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  doubts  and  fears 
and  furious  regrets.  "Nobody  '11  care  to  marry  me  now. 
What  do  you  think  Lecompte  will  say?" 

"What  the  devil  has  Lecompte  to  do  with  it?  You're 
engaged  to  Norvin  Blake." 

"Oh,  yes,  among  the  others." 

Bernie  was  too  miserable  to  voice  the  indignation  which 
such  flippancy  evoked  in  him.  He  merely  said: 

"Norvin  isn't  like  the  others.  It's  different  with  him; 
he  compromised  you," 

"Yes.  It  was  rather  nice  of  him,  but  do  you  think 
he'll  care  to  continue  our  engagement  after  this?" 

"Oh,  he's  known  about  Felicite  for  a  long  time.  Most 
of  the  fellows  know.  That's  what  makes  it  so  hard." 

This  intelligence  entirely  robbed  Myra  Nell  of  words; 
she  stared  at  her  half-brother  as  if  trying  to  realize  that 
the  man  who  had  made  this  shocking  admission  was  he. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  your  friends  have  known 
of  this  disgrace?"  she  asked  at  length. 

Bernie  nodded.  "Of  course  it  seems  terrible  to  you, 
Myra  Nell,  for  you're  innocent  and  unworldly,  and  I'm 
rather  a  dissipated  old  chap.  But  I'm  awfully  lonely. 
The  men  of  my  own  age  are  successful  and  busy 
and  they've  all  left  me  behind;  the  young  ones  don't 
find  me  interesting.  You  see,  I  don't  know  anything,  I 
can't  do  anything,  I'm  a  failure.  Nobody  cares  anything 
about  me,  except  you  and  Felicite.  I  found  a  haven  in 

247 


THE   NET 

her  society;  her  faith  in  me  is  splendid.  To  her  I'm  all 
that's  heroic  and  fine  and  manly,  so  when  I'm  with  her 
I  begin  to  feel  that  I'm  really  all  she  believes,  all  that  I 
hoped  to  be  once  upon  a  time.  She  shares  my  dreams 
and  I  allow  myself  to  believe  in  her  beliefs." 

"And  yet  you  must  realize  that  your  conduct  is  shock- 
ing?" 

"I  suppose  I  do." 

"You  must  know  that  you're  an  utterly  immoral  per 
son?"  He  nodded.  "You're  my  protector,  Bernie; 
you're  all  I  have.  I'm  a  poor  motherless  girl  and  I  lean 
upon  you.  But  you  must  appreciate  now  that  you're 
quite  unfit  to  act  as  my  guardian." 

The  little  man  wailed  his  miserable  assent.  His  half- 
sister's  reproachful  eyes  distracted  him;  the  mention  of 
her  defenseless  position  before  the  world  touched  his 
sorest  feeling.  It  was  almost  more  than  he  could  stand. 
He  was  upon  the  verge  of  hysterical  breakdown,  when  her 
manner  suddenly  changed. 

Her  eyes  brightened,  and,  rising  swiftly,  she  flung  her 
self  down  beside  him  upon  the  sofa,  where  he  still  sat 
clutching  it  as  if  it  were  a  bucking  horse.  Then,  curling 
one  foot  under  her,  she  bent  toward  him,  all  eagerness, 
all  impulsiveness.  With  breathless  intensity  she  in 
quired  : 

"Tell  me,  Bunnie,  is  she  pretty?" 

"Very  pretty,  indeed,"  he  said,  lamely. 

"What's  she  like?  Quick!  Tell  me  all  about  her. 
This  is  the  wickedest  thing  I  ever  heard  of  and  I'm 
perfectly  delighted." 

It  was  Bernie's  turn  to  look  shocked.  He  arose  in 
dignantly.  "Myra  Nell!  You  paralyze  me.  Have  you 
no  moral — " 

"Rats!"  interrupted  Miss  Warren,  inelegantly.  "I've 
let  you  preach  to  me  in  the  past,  but  never  again.  We've 
the  same  blood  in  us,  Bunnie.  If  I  were  a  man  I  dare  say 

248 


FELICITE 

I'd  do  the  most  terrible  things — although  I've  never 
dreamed  of  anything  so  fiercely  awful  as  this." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  he  gasped. 

"So  come  now,  tell  me  everything.  Does  she  pet 
you  and  call  you  funny  names  and  ruffle  your  hair  the 
way  I  do?" 

Bernie  assumed  an  attitude  of  military  erectness. 
"It's  bad  enough  for  me  to  be  a  reprobate  in  secret," 
he  said,  stiffly,  "but  I  sha'n't  allow  my  own  flesh  and  blood 
to  share  my  shame  and  gloat  over  it." 

The  girl's  essential  innocence,  her  child-like  capacity 
for  seeing  only  the  romance  of  a  situation  in  which  he 
himself  recognized  real  dishonor,  made  him  feel  ashamed, 
yet  he  was  grateful  that  she  took  the  matter,  after  all, 
so  lightly.  His  respite,  however,  was  of  short  duration. 
Failing  to  draw  him  out  on  the  subject  which  held  her 
interest  for  the  moment,  Myra  Nell  followed  the  beckon 
ing  of  a  new  thought.  Fixing  her  eyes  meditatively  upon 
him,  she  said,  with  mellow  satisfaction: 

"It  seems  we're  both  being  gossiped  about,  dear." 

"You?  What  have  you  been  doing?"  he  demanded, 
in  despair. 

"Oh,  I  really  haven't  done  anything,  but  it's  nearly 
as  bad.  There's  a  report  that  Norvin  Blake  is  paying 
all  my  Carnival  bills,  and  naturally  it  has  occasioned  talk. 
Of  course  I  denied  it;  the  idea  is  too  preposterous." 

Bernie,  who  had  in  a  measure  recovered  his  composure, 
felt  himself  paling  once  more. 

"Amy  Cline  told  me  she'd  heard  that  he  actually 
bought  my  dresses,  but  Amy  is  a  catty  creature.  She's 
mad  over  Lecompte,  you  know;  that's  why  I  encourage 
him;  and  she  wanted  to  be  Queen,  too,  but  la,  la,  she's 
so  skinny!  Well,  I  was  furious,  naturally —  Miss 
Warren  paused,  quick  to  note  the  telltale  signs  in  her 
brother's  face.  "Bernie!"  she  said.  "Look  me  in  the 
eye!"  Then— "It  is  true!" 

249 


THE    NET 

Her  own  eyes  were  round  and  horrified,  her  rosy  cheeks 
lost  something  of  their  healthy  glow;  for  once  in  her 
capricious  life  she  was  not  acting. 

"I  never  dreamed  you'd  learn  about  it,"  her  brother 
protested.  "When  Norvin  asked  me  if  you'd  like  to  be 
Queen  I  forbade  him  to  mention  it  to  you,  for  I  couldn't 
afford  the  expense.  But  he  told  you  in  spite  of  me,  and 
when  I  saw  your  heart  was  set  on  it — I — I  just  couldn't 
refuse.  I  allowed  him  to  loan  me  the  money." 

"Bernie!  Bernie!"  Myra  Nell  rose  and,  turning  her 
back  upon  him,  stared  out  of  the  window  into  the  dusk 
of  the  evening.  At  length  she  said,  with  a  strange  catch 
in  her  voice,  "You're  an  anxious  comfort,  Bernie,  for  an 
orphan  girl."  Another  moment  passed  in  silence  before 
he  ventured: 

"You  see,  I  knew  he'd  marry  you  sooner  or  later,  so  it 
wasn't  really  a  loan."  He  saw  the  color  flood  her  neck 
and  cheek  at  his  words,  but  he  was  unprepared  for  her 
reply. 

"I'll  never  marry  him  now;  I'll  never  speak  to  him 
again." 

"Why  not?" 

"Can't  you  understand?  Do  you  think  I'm  entirely 
lacking  in  pride?  What  kind  of  man  can  he  be  to  tell 
of  his  loan,  to  make  it  public  that  the  very  dresses  which 
cover  me  were  bought  with  his  money  ? ' '  She  turned  upon 
her  half-brother  with  clenched  hands  and  eyes  which  were 
gleaming  through  tears  of  indignation.  "I  could  kill 
him  for  that." 

"He  didn't  tell,"  Bernie  blurted  out. 

"He  must  have.  Nobody  knew  it  except  you —  Her 
eyes  widened;  she  hesitated.  "You?"  she  gasped. 

It  was  indeed,  the  hour  of  Bernie's  discomfiture.  Myra 
Nell  was  his  divinity,  and  to  confess  his  personal  offense 
against  her,  to  destroy  her  faith  in  him,  was  the  hardest 
thing  he  had  ever  done.  But  he  was  gentleman  enough 

250 


FELICITE 

not  to  spare  himself.  At  the  cost  of  an  effort  which  left 
him  colorless  he  told  her  the  truth. 

"I'd  been  drinking,  that  day  of  the  quarantine.  I 
thought  I'd  fix  it  so  he  couldn't  back  out." 

Myra  Nell's  lips  were  white  as  she  said,  slowly,  measur 
ing  him  meanwhile  with  a  curious  glance: 

"Well,  I  reckon  you  fixed  it  right  enough;  I  reckon  you 
fixed  it  so  that  neither  of  us  can  back  out."  She  turned 
and  went  slowly  up-stairs,  past  the  badly  done  portraits 
of  her  people  which  stared  down  at  her  in  all  their  ancient 
pride.  She  carried  her  head  high  before  them,  but, 
once  in  her  room,  she  flung  herself  upon  her  bed  and  wept 
as  if  her  heart  were  breaking. 

Fortunately  for  Norvin  Blake's  peace  of  mind,  he  had 
no  inkling  of  Bernie's  indiscretion  nor  of  any  change  in 
Myra  Nell.  His  work  now  occupied  his  mind  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  everything  else.  While  anxiously  waiting  for 
some  word  from  Oliveta  he  took  up,  with  O'Neil,  the  in 
vestigation  of  Joe  Poggi,  the  Italian  detective.  Before 
definite  results  had  been  obtained  he  was  delighted  to 
receive  a  visit  from  Vittoria  Fabrizi,  who  explained  that 
she  had  risked  coming  to  see  him  because  she  dared  not 
trust  the  mails  and  feared  to  bring  him  into  the  foreign 
quarter. 

"Then  Oliveta  has  made  some  progress?"  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"Yes." 

"Good!  Poor  girl,  it  must  be  terribly  hard  for  her  to 
play  such  a  part." 

"No  one  knows  how  hard  it  has  been.  You  would 
not  recognize  her,  she  has  changed  so.  Her  love,  for 
which  we  were  so  deeply  thankful,  has  turned  into  bitter 
hate.  It  was  a  long  time  before  she  dared  trust  herself 
with  Maruffi,  for  always  she  saw  the  blood  of  her  father 
upon  his  hands.  But  she  is  Sicilian,  she  turned  to  stone 

251 


THE    NET 

and  finally  welcomed  his  caresses.     Ah!  that  man  will 
suffer  for  what  he  has  made  her  endure." 

Blake  inquired,  curiously,  "  Does  he  really  love  her?" 

"Yes.  That  is  the  strangest  part  of  the  whole  affair. 
It  is  the  one  good  thing  in  his  character,  the  bit  of  gold 
in  that  queer  alloy  which  goes  to  make  him  up.  Perhaps 
if  he  had  met  her  when  he  was  younger,  love  would  have 
made  him  a  different  man.  In  her  hands  he  is  like  wax; 
he  is  simple,  childlike;  he  fawns  upon  her,  he  would  shower 
her  with  gifts  and  attentions ;  yet  underneath  there  is  that 
streak  of  devilish  cunning." 
,  "What  has  he  told,  so  far?" 

"Much  that  is  significant,  little  that  is  definite.  We 
have  pieced  his  words  together,  bit  by  bit,  and  uncovered 
his  life  an  inch  at  a  time.  It  was  he  who  paid  the  blood 
money  to  di  Marco  and  Bolla — a  thousand  dollars." 

"A  thousand  dollars  for  the  life  of  Dan  Donnelly!" 

The  Countess  lowered  her  yellow  head.  "They  in 
turn  hired  Larubio,  Normando,  and  the  rest.  The  chain 
is  complete." 

"Then  all  that  remains  is  to  prove  it,  link  by  link,  be 
fore  arresting  him." 

"Is  not  Oliveta's  word  sufficient  proof?" 

"No."  Blake  paced  his  office  silently,  followed  by  the 
anxious  gaze  of  his  caller.  At  length  he  asked,  "Will 
she  take  the  stand  at  the  trial?" 

"Heaven  forbid!  Nothing  could  induce  her  to  do  so. 
That  is  no  part  of  her  scheme  of  vengeance,  you  under 
stand  ?  Being  Sicilian,  she  will  work  only  in  her  own  way. 
Besides — that  would  mean  the  disclosure  of  her  identity 
and  mine." 

"I  feared  as  much.  In  that  case  every  point  which 
Maruffi  confesses  to  her  must  be  verified  by  other  means. 
That  will  not  be  easy,  but  I  dare  say  it  can  be  done." 

"The  law  is  such  a  stupid  thing!"  exclaimed  Vittoria. 
"It  has  no  eyes,  it  will  not  reason,  it  cannot  multiply 

252 


FELICITE 

nor  add ;  it  must  be  led  by  the  hand  like  a  blind  old  man 
and  be  told  that  two  and  two  make  four.  However, 
I  have  a  plan." 

"I  confess  that  I  see  no  way.     What  do  you  advise?" 

"These  accused  men  are  in  the  Parish  prison,  yes? 
Very  well.  Imprison  spies  with  them  who  will  gain  their 
confidence.  In  that  way  we  can  verify  Maruffi's  words." 

"That's  not  so  easily  done.  There  is  no  certainty  that 
they  would  make  damaging  admissions." 

"Men  who  dwell  constantly  with  thoughts  of  their 
guilt  feel  the  need  of  talking.  The  mind  is  incapable  of 
continued  silence;  it  must  communicate  the  things  that 
weigh  it  down.  Let  the  imprisoned  Mafiosi  mingle  with 
one  another  freely  whenever  ears  are  open  near  by,  and 
you  will  surely  get  results."  Seeing  him  frown  in  thought, 
she  continued,  after  a  moment,  "You  told  me  of  a  great 
detective  agency — one  which  sent  that  man  Corte  here 
to  betray  Narcone." 

"Yes,  the  Pinkertons.  I  was  thinking  of  them.  I  be 
lieve  it  can  be  done.  At  any  rate,  leave  it  to  me  to  try, 
and  if  I  succeed  no  one  shall  know  about  it,  not  even  our 
own  police.  When  our  spies  enter  the  prison,  if  they  do, 
it  will  be  in  a  way  to  inspire  confidence  among  the  Mafiosi. 
Meanwhile,  do  you  think  you  are  entirely  safe  in  that 
foreign  quarter?" 

"Quite  safe,  although  the  situation  is  trying.  I  have 
felt  the  strain  almost  as  deeply  as  my  unfortunate 
sister." 

"And  when  it  is  all  over  you  will  be  ready  for  your 
vows?" 

Her  answer  gave  no  sign  of  the  hesitation  he  had  hoped 
for  and  half  expected. 

"Of  course." 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "Somehow,  I — I  feel 
that  fate  will  keep  you  from  that  life;  I  cannot  think 
of  you  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy."  In  spite  of  himself  his 

253 


THE    NET 

voice  was  uneven  and  his  eyes  were  alight  with  the  hope 
which  she  so  steadfastly  refused  to  recognize. 

As  she  rose  to  leave  she  said,  musingly,  "  How  strange  it 
is  that  this  master  of  crime  and  intrigue  should  betray 
himself  through  the  one  good  and  unselfish  emotion  of 
his  life!" 

"Samson  was  shorn  of  his  strength  by  the  fingers  of  a 
woman,"  he  said. 

"Yes.  Many  good  men  have  been  betrayed  by  evil 
women,  but  it  is  not  often  that  evil  men  meet  their  punish 
ment  through  good  ones.  And  now — a  riverderci." 

"Good-by,  for  a  few  days."  He  pressed  his  lips 
lightly  to  her  fingers. 


XX 

THE   MAN   IN   THE   SHADOWS 

LATE  one  day,  a  fortnight  after  her  visit  to  Blake's 
office,  Vittoria  returned  from  a  call  upon  Myra  Nell 
Warren,  to  find  Oliveta  in  a  high  state  of  apprehension. 
The  girl,  who  had  evidently  kept  watch  for  her,  met  her 
at  the  door,  and  inquired,  nervously: 

"What  news?    What  have  you  heard?" 

"Nothing  further,  sorella  mia." 

"Impossible!  God  in  Heaven!  I  am  dying!  This 
suspense — I  cannot  endure  it  longer." 

Vittoria  laid  a  comforting  hand  upon  her. 

"Courage!"  she  said.  "We  can  only  wait.  I  too 
am  torn  by  a  thousand  demons.  Cassar  has  gone,  but 
no  one  knows  where." 

Oliveta  shuddered.     "We  are  ruined.     He  suspects." 

"So  you  have  said  before,  but  how  could  he  sus 
pect?" 

"I  don't  know,  yet  judge  for  yourself.  I  worm  his 
secrets  from  him  at  the  cost  of  kisses  and  endearments; 
I  hold  him  in  my  arms  and  with  smiles  and  caresses  I  lead 
him  to  betray  himself.  Then,  suddenly,  without  warning 
or  farewell,  he  vanishes.  I  tell  you  he  knows.  He  has 
the  cunning  of  the  fiend,  and  your  friend  Signore  Blake 
has  blundered."  Oliveta's  face  blanched  with  terror. 
She  clung  to  her  companion  weakly,  repeating  over  and 
over:  "He  will  return.  God  help  us,  he  will  return." 

"Even  though  he  knows  the  truth,  which  is  far  from 
likely,  he  would  scarcely  dare  to  come  here,"  Vittoria  said, 

255 


THE    NET 

striving  with  a  show  of  confidence  which  she  did  not  feel 
to  calm  her  foster  sister. 

"You  do  not  know  him  as  I  do.  You  do  not  know  the 
furies  which  goad  him  in  his  anger." 

In  spite  of  herself  Vittoria  felt  choked  again  by  those 
fears  which  during  the  days  since  Maruffi's  disappearance 
she  had  with  difficulty  controlled.  She  knew  that  the  net 
had  been  spread  for  him  in  all  caution,  yet  he  had  slipped 
through  it.  Whether  he  had  been  warned  or  whether  mere 
chance  had  taken  him  from  the  city  at  the  last  moment, 
neither  she,  nor  Blake,  nor  the  Chief  of  Police  had  been 
able  to  learn.  All  had  been  done  with  such  secrecy  that, 
except  a  bare  half-dozen  trusted  officers,  no  one  knew 
him  to  be  even  suspected  of  a  part  in  the  Mafia's  affairs. 
Norvin  had  been  quick  to  sense  the  possible  danger  to 
the  two  women,  and  had  urged  them  to  accept  his  pro 
tection;  but  they  had  convinced  him  that  such  a  course 
had  its  own  dangers,  for  in  case  the  Mafioso  was  really 
unsuspicious  the  slightest  indiscretion  on  their  part  might 
frighten  him.  Therefore  they  had  insisted  upon  living  as 
usual  until  something  more  definite  was  known. 

This  afternoon  Vittoria  had  received  a  message  from 
Myra  Nell,  requesting,  or  rather  demanding,  her  immediate 
attendance.  She  had  gone  gladly,  hoping  to  divert  her 
mind  from  its  present  anxieties;  but  the  girl  had  talked 
of  little  except  Norvin  Blake  and  the  effect  had  not  been 
calming. 

Oliveta  soon  discovered  that  her  sister  was  in  a  state 
to  receive  rather  than  give  consolation. 

"Carissima,  you  are  ill!"  she  said  with  concern. 

Vittoria  assented.  "It  is  my  eyes — my  head.  The 
heat  is  perhaps  as  much  to  blame  as  our  many  worries." 
She  removed  her  hat  and  pressed  slender  fingers  to  her 
throbbing  temples,  while  Oliveta  drew  the  curtains  against 
the  fierce  rays  of  a  westering  sun.  Later,  clad  in  a  loose 
silken  robe,  Vittoria  flung  herself  upon  the  low  couch 

,256 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    SHADOWS 

and  her  companion  let  down  her  luxuriant  masses  of  hair 
until  it  enveloped  her  like  a  cloud.  She  lay  back  upon  the 
cushions  in  grateful  relaxation,  while  Oliveta  combed  and 
brushed  the  braids,  soothing  her  with  an  occasional  touch 
of  cool  palms  or  straying  fingers. 

"How  strange  that  both  our  lives  should  have  been 
blighted  by  this  man!"  the  peasant  girl  said  at  length. 

"'Sh-h!  You  must  not  think  of  him  so  unceasingly," 
Vittoria  warned  her. 

"One's  thoughts  go  where  they  will  when  one  is  sick 
and  wearied.  I  have  grown  to  hate  everything  about 
me — the  people,  the  life,  the  country." 

"Sicily  is  calling  you,  perhaps?" 

Oliveta  answered  eagerly,  "Yes!  You,  too,  are  un 
happy,  my  dearest.  Let  us  go  home.  Home!"  She 
let  her  hands  fall  idle  and  stared  ahead  of  her,  seeing  the 
purple  hills  behind  Terranova,  the  dusty  gray-green 
groves  of  olive-trees,  the  brilliant  fields  of  sumach,  the 
arbors  bent  beneath  their  weight  of  blushing  fruit.  "I 
want  to  see  the  village  people  again,  my  father's  relatives, 
old  Aliandro,  and  the  Notary's  little  boy — 

"He  must  be  a  well-grown  lad,  by  now,"  murmured 
Vittoria.  "Aliandro,  I  fear,  is  dead.  But  it  is  a  long 
road  to  Terranova;  we  have — changed." 

"Yes — everything  has  changed.  My  happiness  has 
changed  to  misery,  my  hope  to  despair,  my  love  to  hate." 

"Poor  sister  mine!"  Vittoria  sympathized.  "Be 
patient.  No  wound  is  too  deep  for  time  to  heal.  The 
scar  will  remain,  but  the  pain  will  disappear.  I  should 
know,  for  I  have  suffered." 

"And  do  you  suffer  no  longer?  It  has  been  a  long 
time  since  you  mentioned — Martel." 

For  a  moment  Vittoria  remained  silent,  her  eyes  closed. 

When  she  replied  it  was  not  in  answer  to  the  question. 

"I  can  never  return  to  Sicily,  for  it  would  awaken  nothing 

but  distress  in  me.    But  there  is  no  reason  why  you 

17  257 


THE    NET 

should  not  go  if  you  wish.  You  have  the  means,  while 
all  that  I  had  has  been  given  to  the  Sisters." 

Oliveta  cried  out  at  this  passionately.  "I  have  noth 
ing.  That  which  you  gave  me  I  hold  only  for  you.  But 
I  would  not  go  alone;  I  shall  never  leave  you." 

"Some  time  you  must,  my  dear.  Our  parting  is  not 
far  off." 

"I  am  not  sure."  The  peasant  girl  hesitated.  "Deep 
in  your  heart,  do  you  hope  to  find  peace  inside  the  walls 
of  that  hospital?" 

"Yes — peace,  at  least;  perhaps  contentment  and 
happiness  also." 

"That  is  impossible,"  said  Oliveta,  at  which  Vittoria's 
hazel  eyes  flew  open. 

"Eh?     Why  not?" 

"Because  you  love  this  Signore  Blake!" 

"Oliveta!     You  are  losing  your  wits." 

" Perhaps!  But  I  have  not  lost  my  eyes.  As  for  him, 
he  loved  you  even  in  Sicily." 

"What  then?" 

"He  is  a  fine  man.  I  think  you  could  hear  an  echo  to 
the  love  you  cherished  for  Martel,  if  you  but  listened." 

Vittoria  gazed  at  her  foster-sister  with  a  look  half 
tender  and  half  stern.  Her  voice  had  lost  some  of  its 
languid  indifference  when  she  replied: 

"Any  feeling  I  might  have  would  indeed  be  no  more 
than  an  echo.  I — am  not  like  other  women;  something 
in  me  is  dead — it  is  the  power  to  love  as  women  love.  I 
am  like  a  person  who  emerges  from  a  conflagration, 
blinded;  the  eyes  are  there,  but  the  sight  is  gone." 

"Perhaps  you  only  sleep,  like  the  princess  who  waited 
for  a  kiss — 

Vittoria  interrupted  impatiently:  "No,  no!  And  you 
mistake  his  feelings.  I  attract  him,  perhaps,  but  he  loves 
Miss  Warren  and  has  asked  her  to  marry  him.  What  is 
more,  she  adores  him  and — they  were  made  for  each  other." 

258 


THE    MAN    IN    THE    SHADOWS 

"She  adores  him!"  echoed  the  other.  "Che  Dio! 
She  only  plays  at  love.  Her  affections  are  as  shifting 
as  the  winds." 

"That  may  be.  But  he  is  in  earnest.  It  was  he  who 
gave  her  this  social  triumph  —  he  made  her  Queen  of 
the  Carnival.  He  even  bought  her  dresses.  It  was 
that  which  caused  her  to  send  for  me  this  afternoon. 
Heaven  knows  I  was  in  no  mood  to  listen,  but  she 
chattered  like  a  magpie.  As  if  I  could  advise  her 
wisely!" 

"She  is  very  dear  to  you,"  Oliveta  ventured. 

"Indeed,  yes.  She  shares  with  you  all  the  love  that 
is  left  in  me." 

"I  think  I  understand.  You  have  principles,  my 
sister.  You  have  purposely  barred  the  way  to  your  fairy 
prince,  and  will  continue  sleeping." 

j.  Vittoria's  brow  showed  faint  lines,  but  whether  of  pain 
or  annoyance  it  was  hard  to  tell. 

Oliveta  sighed.  "What  evil  fortune  overhangs  us  that 
we  should  be  denied  love!" 

"Please!  Let  us  speak  no  more  of  it."  She  turned 
her  face  away  and  for  a  long  time  her  companion  soothed 
her  with  silent  ministrations.  Meanwhile  the  dusk 
settled,  the  golden  flames  died  out  of  the  western  win 
dows,  the  room  darkened.  Seeing  that  her  patient  slept, 
Oliveta  arose  and  with  noiseless  step  went  to  a  little 
shrine  which  hung  on  the  wall.  She  knelt  before  the 
figure  of  the  Virgin,  whispering  a  prayer,  then  lit  a  fresh 
candle  for  her  sister's  pain  and  left  the  room,  partly 
closing  the  door  behind  her. 

•  She  had  allowed  the  maid-servant  to  go  for  the  after 
noon,  and  found,  upon  examination,  that  the  day's  market 
ing  had  been  neglected.  There  was  still  time,  however, 
in  which  to  secure  some  delicacies  to  tempt  Vittoria's 
taste  so  she  flung  a  shawl  over  her  dark  hair  and  de 
scended  SOftly  to  the  street. 

359 


THE    NET 

A  little  earlier  on  this  same  afternoon,  as  Norvin  Blake 
sat  at  work  in  his  office,  the  telephone  bill  roused  him 
from  deep  thought.  He  seized  the  instrument  eagerly, 
hoping  for  any  news  that  would  relieve  the  tension 
upon  his  nerves.  For  uncertainty  as  to  Maruffi's  where 
abouts  had  weighed  heavily  upon  him,  especially  in  view 
of  the  possible  danger  to  the  woman  he  loved  and  to  her 
devoted  companion.  The  voice  of  O'Neil  came  over  the 
wire,  full-toned  and  distinct: 

"Hello!  Is  this  Blake?"— and  then,  "We've  got 
Maruffi!" 

"When?    Where?"  shouted  Norvin. 

"Five  minutes  ago;  at  his  own  house.  Johnson  and 
Dean  have  been  watching  the  place.  He  went  with  them 
like  a  lamb,  too.  They've  just  'phoned  me  that  they're 
all  on  their  way  here." 

"Good!     Do  you  need  me?" 

"No!    See  you  later.     Good-by!" 

The  Acting  Chief  slammed  up  his  receiver,  leaving  his 
hearer  stunned  at  the  suddenness  of  this  long-awaited 
denouement. 

Maruffi  taken!  His  race  run!  Then  this  was  the  end 
of  the  fight !  A  ferocious  triumph  flooded  Norvin's  brain. 
With  Belisario  Cardi  in  the  hands  of  the  law  the  spell 
of  the  Mafia  was  broken.  Savigno  and  Donnelly  were 
as  good  as  avenged.  He  experienced  an  odd  feeling  of 
relaxation,  as  if  both  his  body  and  brain  were  cramped 
and  tired  with  waiting.  Then,  realizing  that  the  Countess 
and  Oliveta  must  have  suffered  an  even  greater  strain, 
he  set  out  at  once  to  give  them  the  news  in  person. 

As  he  turned  swiftly  into  Royal  Street  he  encountered 
O'Connell,  who,  noting  his  haste  and  something  unusual 
in  his  bearing,  detained  him  to  ask  the  cause. 

"Haven't  you  heard?"  exclaimed  Norvin.  "Maruffi's 
captured  at  last." 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

260 


THE    MAN   IN   THE   SHADOWS 

"Yes.  O'Neil  told  me  over  the  wire  not  ten  minutes 
ago." 

O'Connell  fell  into  step  with  him,  saying,  incredu 
lously  : 

"And  he  came  without  a  fight?  Lord!  I  can't  be 
lieve  it." 

"Nor  I.     I  expected  trouble  with  him." 

"Sure !  I  thought  he  was  a  bad  one,  but  that's  the  way 
it  goes  sometimes.  I  reckon  he  saw  he  had  no  chance." 
The  officer  shook  his  red  head.  "It's  just  my  blamed 
luck  to  miss  the  fun."  O'Connell  was  one  of  the  few  who 
had  been  first  trusted  with  the  news  of  Maruffi's  identity, 
and  for  the  past  fortnight  he  had  been  casting  high  and 
low  for  the  Sicilian's  trail.  Ever  since  that  October  night 
when  he  had  supported  Donnelly  in  his  arms  as  the  life 
ebbed  from  the  Chief,  ever  since  he  had  knelt  on  the  soft 
banquette  with  the  sting  of  powder  smoke  in  his  nostrils, 
he  had  been  obsessed  by  a  fanatical  desire  to  be  in  at  the 
death  of  his  friend's  murderers.  He  left  Blake  at  his 
destination  and  hurried  on  toward  St.  Phillip  Street  in  the 
vague  hope  that  he  might  not  be  too  late  to  take  a  hand 
in  some  part  of  the  proceedings. 

Blake's  hand  was  upon  Oliveta's  bell  when  the  door 
opened  and  she  confronted  him.  Her  start,  her  frightened 
cry,  gave  evidence  of  the  nervous  dread  under  which  she 
labored. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Oliveta,"  he  said,  quickly.  "I  come 
with  news — good  news." 

She  swayed  and  groped  blindly  for  support.  He  put 
out  his  hand  to  sustain  her,  but  she  shrank  away  from  him, 
saying,  faintly: 

"Then  he  is  captured?    God  be  praised!" 

In  spite  of  the  words,  her  eyes  filmed  over  with  tears,  a 
look  of  abject  misery  bared  itself  upon  her  face. 

"Where  is  the  Countess?" 

"Above — resting.    Come;  she,  too,  will  rejoice." 

261 


THE   NET 

"Let  me  take  her  the  news.  You  were  going  out,  and 
— I  think  the  air  will  do  you  good.  Be  brave,  Oliveta; 
you  have  done  your  share,  and  there's  nothing  more  to 
fear." 

She  acquiesced  dully;  her  olive  features  were  ghastly 
as  she  felt  her  way  past  him ;  she  walked  like  a  sick  woman. 

He  watched  her  pityingly  for  a  moment,  then  mounted 
the  stairs.  As  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door  it  gave 
to  his  touch  and  he  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  parlor. 
Vittoria's  name  was  upon  his  lips  when,  by  the  dim 
evening  light  which  came  through  the  drawn  curtains 
and  by  the  faint  illumination  from  the  solitary  shrine 
candle,  he  saw  her  recumbent  form  upon  the  couch. 

She  was  lying  in  an  attitude  of  complete  relaxation, 
her  sun-gilded  hair  straying  in  long  thick  braids  below 
her  waist.  Those  tawny  ropes  were  of  a  length  and  thick 
ness  to  bind  a  man  about  the  body.  Her  lips  were  slightly 
parted;  her  lashes  lay  like  dark  shadows  against  her  ivory 
cheeks. 

He  was  swept  by  a  sudden  awed  abashment.  The 
impulse  to  retreat  came  over  him,  but  he  lacked  the  will. 
The  longing  which  had  remained  so  strong  in  him  through 
years  of  denial,  governing  the  whole  course  of  his  life, 
blazed  up  in  him  now  and  increased  with  every  heart 
beat.  He  found  that  without  willing  it  he  had  come 
close  to  the  couch.  The  girl's  slim  hand  lay  upon  the 
cushions,  limply  upturned  to  him;  it  was  half  open  and 
there  sprang  through  him  an  ungovernable  desire  to  bury 
his  lips  in  its  rosy  palm.  He  knelt,  then  quailed  and  re 
covered  himself.  At  the  same  instant  she  stirred  and, 
to  his  incredulous  delight,  whispered  his  name. 

A  wild  exultation  shot  through  him.  Why  not  yield 
to  this  madness,  he  asked  himself,  dizzily.  The  long 
struggle  was  over  now.  For  this  woman's  sake  he  had 
repeatedly  played  the  part  of  bravery  in  a  fever  of  fear. 
He  had  done  what  he  had  done  to  make  himself  worthy 

262 


THE   MAN    IN   THE  SHADOWS 

of  her,  and  now,  at  the  last,  he  was  to  have  nothing — 
absolutely  nothing,  except  a  memory.  Against  these 
thoughts  his  notions  of  honorable  conduct  hastily  and 
confusedly  arrayed  themselves.  But  he  was  in  no  state 
to  reason.  The  same  enchantment,  half  psychic,  half 
physical,  ethereal  yet  strongly  human,  that  had  mastered 
him  in  the  old  Sicilian  days,  was  at  work  upon  him  now. 
Dimly  he  felt  that  so  mighty  and  natural  a  thing  ought 
not  to  be  resisted.  He  stood  stiffly  like  a  man  spell 
bound. 

It  may  have  been  Oliveta's  accusation  that  affected 
the  course  of  the  sleeping  woman's  thoughts,  it  may  have 
been  that  she  felt  the  man's  nearness,  or  that  some  in 
fluence  passed  from  his  mind  to  hers.  However  it  was, 
she  spoke  his  name  again,  her  fingers  closed  over  his, 
she  drew  him  toward  her. 

He  yielded;  her  warm  breath  beat  upon  his  face;  then 
the  last  atoms  of  self-restraint  fled  away  from  him  like 
sparks  before  a  fierce  night  wind.  A  fiery  madness 
coursed  through  his  veins  as  he  caught  her  to  him.  Her 
lips  were  fevered  with  sleep.  For  a  moment  the  caress 
seemed  real;  it  was  the  climax  of  his  hopes,  the  attain 
ment  of  his  longings.  He  crushed  her  in  his  arms;  her 
hair  blinded  him;  he  buried  his  face  in  it,  kissing  her  brow, 
her  cheek,  the  curve  where  neck  and  shoulder  met,  and 
all  the  time  he  was  speaking  her  name  with  hoarse  ten 
derness. 

So  strangely  had  the  fanciful  merged  into  the  real 
that  the  girl  was  slow  in  waking.  Her  eyelids  fluttered, 
her  breast  rose  and  fell  tumultuously,  and  even  while 
her  wits  were  struggling  back  to  reality  her  arms  clung 
to  him.  But  the  transition  was  brief.  Her  eyes  opened, 
and  she  stiffened  as  with  the  shock  of  an  electric  current. 
A  cry,  a  swift,  writhing  movement,  and  she  was  upon  her 
feet,  his  incoherent  words  beating  upon  her  ears  but 
making  no  impression  upon  her  brain. 

263 


THE    NET 

"You!    God  above!"  she  cried. 

She  faced  him,  white,  terror-stricken,  yet  splendid  in 
her  anger.  She  was  still  dazed,  but  horror  and  dismay 
leaped  quickly  into  her  eyes. 

"Margherita!  You  called  me.  You  drew  me  to  you. 
It  was  your  real  self  that  spoke — I  know  it." 

"You — kissed  me  while — I  slept!" 

He  paled  at  the  look  with  which  she  scorched  him,  then 
broke  out,  doggedly: 

"You  wanted  me;  you  drew  me  close.  You  can't 
undo  that  moment — you  can't.  My  God!  Don't  tell 
me  it  was  all  a  mistake.  That  would  make  it  unendur 
able.  I  could  never  forgive  myself." 

She  hid  her  face  with  a  choking  cry  of  shame.  "No, 
no!  I  didn't  know — 

He  approached  and  touched  her  arm  timidly.  "Mar 
gherita,"  he  said,  "if  I  thought  you  really  did  not  call  me 
— if  I  were  made  to  believe  that  I  had  committed  an  un 
pardonable  offense  against  your  womanhood  and  our 
friendship — I  would  go  and  kill  myself.  But  somehow 
I  cannot  believe  that.  I  was  beside  myself — but  I  was 
never  more  exalted.  Something  greater  than  my  own 
will  made  me  do  as  I  did.  I  think  it  was  your  love  an 
swering  to  mine.  If  that  is  not  so — if  it  is  all  a  delusion 
— there  is  nothing  left  for  me.  I  have  played  my  part 
out  to  the  end.  My  work  is  done,  and  I  do  not  see  how 
I  can  go  on  living." 

There  was  an  odd  mingling  of  pain  and  rapture  in  the 
gaze  she  raised  to  his.  It  gave  him  courage. 

"Why  struggle  longer?"  he  urged,  gently.  "Why  turn 
from  love  when  Heaven  wills  you  to  receive  it  and  learn 
to  be  a  woman  ?  I  was  in  your  thoughts  and  you  longed 
for  me,  as  I  have  never  ceased,  all  these  years,  to  hunger 
for  you.  Please!  Please!  Margherita!  Why  fight  it 
longer?" 

"What  have  you  done?  What  have  you  done?"  she 

264 


THE   MAN   IN   THE    SHADOWS 

whispered  over  and  over.  She  looked  toward  the  open 
door  as  if  with  thought  of  escape  or  assistance,  and 
despite  his  growing  hope  Blake  was  miserable  at  sight  of 
her  distress. 

"How  came  you  here,  alone  with  me?"  she  asked  at 
length.  "  Oliveta  was  here  only  a  moment  ago." 

"I  came  with  good  news  for  both  of  you.  I  met 
Oliveta  as  she  went  out,  and  when  I  had  told  her  she  sent 
me  to  you.  Don't  you  understand,  dear?  It  was  good 
news.  Our  quest  is  over,  our  work  is  done,  and  God  has 
seen  fit  to  deliver  our  enemy — " 

She  flung  out  a  trembling  hand,  while  the  other  hid 
itself  in  the  silk  and  lace  at  her  breast. 

"What  is  this  you  tell  me?  Martini?  Am  I  still 
dreaming?" 

"Maruffi  has  been  arrested." 

"Is  it  possible?  —  this  long  nightmare  ended  at  last 
like  this?  Martini  is  arrested?  You  are  safe?  No  one 
has  been  killed?" 

"  It  is  all  right.  O'Neil  telephoned  me  and  I  came  here 
at  once  to  tell  you  and  Oliveta."  • 

' '  When  did  they  find  him  ?    Where  ?" 

"Not  half  an  hour  ago — at  his  house.  We  have  been 
watching  the  place  ever  since  he  disappeared,  feeling  sure 
he'd  have  to  return  sooner  or  later,  if  only  for  a  moment. 
He  is  under  lock  and  key  at  this  instant." 

Blake  attributed  a  stir  in  the  hall  outside  to  the  presence 
of  the  maid-servant;  Margherita,  whose  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him,  failed  to  detect  a  figure  which  stood  in  the 
shadow  just  beyond  the  open  door. 

"Does  he  know  of  our  part  in  it — OKveta's  part?" 
she  asked. 

"O'Neil  didn't  say.  He'll  learn  of  it  shortly,  in  any 
event.  Do  you  realize  what  his  capture  means?  I — 
hardly  do  myself.  For  one  thing,  there's  no  further  need 
of  concealment.  I — I  want  people  to  know  who  you  are. 

265 


THE   NET 

It  seems  hardly  conceivable  that  Belisario  Cardi  has  gone 
to  meet  his  punishment,  but  it  is  true.  Lucrezia  has  her 
revenge  at  last.  It  has  been  a  terrible  task  for  all  of  us, 
but  it  brought  you  and  me  together.  I  don't  intend 
ever  to  let  you  go  again,  Margherita.  I  loved  you  there 
in  Sicily.  I've  loved  you  every  moment,  every  hour — 

Blake  turned  at  the  sound  of  a  door  closing  behind  him. 
He  saw  Margherita  start,  then  lean  forward  staring 
past  him  with  a  look  of  amazement,  of  frightened  incre 
dulity,  upon  her  face.  Some  one,  a  man,  had  stepped 
into  the  dim-lit  room  and  was  fumbling  with  the  lock,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  them,  meanwhile,  over  his  shoulder.  The 
light  from  the  windows  had  faded,  the  faint  illumination 
from  the  taper  before  the  shrine  was  insufficient  fully  to 
pierce  the  gloom.  But  on  the  instant  of  his  inter 
ruption  all  triumph  and  hope,  all  thoughts  of  love,  fled 
from  Norvin's  mind,  bursting  like  iridescent  bubbles, 
at  a  touch.  The  flesh  along  his  back  writhed,  the  hair 
at  his  neck  lifted  itself;  for  there  in  the  shadow,  huge, 
black,  and  silent,  stood  Caesar  Maruffi. 


XXI 

UNDER   FIRE 

BLAKE  heard  Margherita's  breath  release  itself.  She 
was  staring  as  if  at  an  apparition.  His  mind,  working 
with  feverish  speed,  sought  vainly  to  grasp  the  situation. 
Maruffi  had  broken  away  and  come  for  his  vengeance, 
but  how  or  why  this  had  been  made  possible  he  could  not 
conceive.  It  sufficed  that  the  man  was  here  in  the  flesh, 
sinister,  terrible,  malignant  as  hell.  Blake  knew  that  the 
ultimate  test  of  his  courage  had  come. 

He  felt  the  beginnings  of  that  same  shuddering,  sicken 
ing  weakness  with  which  he  was  only  too  familiar;  felt 
the  strength  running  out  from  his  body  as  water  escapes 
from  a  broken  vessel.  He  froze  with  the  sense  of  his 
physical  impotency,  and  yet  despite  this  chaos  of  con 
flicting  emotions  his  inner  mind  was  clear;  it  was  bitter, 
too,  with  a  ferocious  self -disgust. 

There  was  a  breathless  pause  before  Marufii  spoke. 

"Lucrezia  Ferara!"  he  said,  hoarsely,  as  if  wishing  to 
test  the  sound  of  the  name.  "So  Oliveta  is  the  daughter 
of  the  overseer,  and  you  are  Savigno's  sweetheart."  His 
words  were  directed  at  Margherita,'  who  answered  in  a 
thin,  shrill,  broken  voice : 

"What — are  you  doing — here?" 

"I  came  for  that  wanton's  blood.     Give  her  to  me." 

' '  Oliveta  ?     She  is — gone. ' ' 

The  Sicilian  cursed.     ' '  Gone  ?     Where  ?" 

"Away.     Into  the  street.     You — you  cannot  find  her." 

"Christ!"  Maruffi  reached  upward  and  tore  open  the 
collar  of  his  shirt. 

267 


THE   NET 

Blake  spoke  for  the  first  time,  but  his  voice  was  dead  and 
lifeless. 

"Yes.  She's  gone.  You're  wanted.  You  must  go 
with  me!" 

Maruffi  gave  a  snarling,  growling  cry  and  his  gesture 
showed  that  he  was  armed.  Involuntarily  Blake  shrank 
back;  his  hand  groped  for  his  hip,  but,  half -way,  encountered 
the  pile  of  silken  cushions  upon  which  Margherita  had  been 
lying;  his  fingers  sank  into  them  nervously,  his  other  hand 
gripped  the  carven  footboard  of  the  couch.  He  had  no 
weapon.  He  had  not  dreamed  of  such  a  necessity. 

In  this  imminent  peril  a  new  fear  swept  over  him 
greater  than  any  he  had  ever  known.  It  was  not  the  fear 
of  death.  It  was  something  far  worse.  For  the  moment, 
it  seemed  to  him  inevitable  that  Margherita  Ginini  should, 
at  last,  learn  the  truth  concerning  him,  should  see  him 
as  he  was  that  night  at  Terranova.  Swift  upon  the  heels 
of  his  long-deferred  declaration  of  love  would  come  the 
proof  that  he  was  a  craven.  Then  he  thought  of  her 
danger,  realizing  that  this  man  was  quite  capable  in  his 
fury  of  killing  her,  too,  and  he  stiffened  in  every  fiber. 
His  cowardice  fell  away  from  him  like  a  rotten  garment, 
and  he  stood  erect. 

Maruffi,  it  seemed,  had  not  heard  his  last  words,  or 
else  his  mind  was  still  set  upon  Oliveta.  "Gone!"  he 
exclaimed.  "Then  I  shall  not  see  her  face  grow  black 
within  my  fingers — not  yet.  God!  How  I  ran!"  He 
cursed  again.  "But  I  shall  not  fare  so  badly,  after  all." 
He  stirred,  and  with  his  movement  Blake  flew  to  action. 
Swiftly,  with  one  sweep  of  his  right  hand,  he  brought  the 
silken  cushions  up  before  his  breast  and  lunged  at  his 
enemy.  At  the  same  instant  Maruffi  fired. 

In  the  closed  room  the  detonation  was  deafening;  it 
rattled  the  windows,  it  seemed  to  bulge  the  very  walls. 
Blake  felt  a  heavy  blow  which  drove  the  floss-filled  pillows 
against  his  body  with  the  force  of  a  giant  hammer.  It 

268 


.-."•-• 

HE    WRESTLED    FOR    POSSESSION    OF    THE    GUN 


UNDER    FIRE 

tore  them  from  his  grip,  it  crushed  the  breath  from  his 
lungs  and  spun  him  half  around.  Seeing  that  he  did  not 
fall,  Maruffi  cocked  and  fired  a  second  time  without 
aiming,  but  his  victim  was  upon  him  like  a  tiger  and  to 
gether  they  crashed  back  against  the  wall,  locked  in  each 
other's  arms. 

Blake's  will  propelled  him  splendidly.  All  that  inde 
cision  with  which  fear  works  upon  the  mind  had  left 
him,  but  che  old  contraction  of  his  nerves  still  hampered 
his  action.  The  blaze  from  Maruffi's  second  shot  half 
blinded  him  and  its  breath  smote  him  like  a  blow. 

"Two!"  he  counted,  wonderingly.  A  pain  in  his  left 
side,  due  to  that  first  sledge-hammer  impact,  was  spread 
ing  slowly,  but  he  had  crossed  the  room  under  the  belch 
ing  muzzle  of  the  revolver  and  was  practically  unharmed. 

There  began  a  struggle — the  more  terrible  since  it 
was  unequal — in  which  the  weaker  man  had  to  drive  his 
body  at  the  cost  of  tremendous  effort.  Blake  was  like 
a  leader  commanding  troops  which  had  begun  to  retreat. 
But  more  power  came  to  him  under  the  spur  of  action 
and  the  pressing  realization  that  he  must  give  Margherita 
a  chance  to  get  safely  away.  If  he  could  not  wrest  the 
weapon  from  Marufn's  hands  he  knew  that  he  must  re 
ceive  those  four  remaining  bullets  in  his  own  body.  He 
rather  doubted  that  he  could  take  that  weight  of  lead. 

He  shouted  to  her  to  run,  while  he  wrestled  for  posses 
sion  of  the  gun.  He  had  flung  his  right  arm  about  his 
adversary's  body,  his  other  hand  gripped  his  wrist;  his 
head  was  pressed  against  MarufiTs  chest.  The  weapon 
described  swift  circles,  jerking  parabolas  and  figures  as  the 
men  strained  to  wrest  it  from  each  other.  Maruffi  strove 
violently  to  free  his  imprisoned  hand,  and  in  doing  so 
he  discharged  the  revolver  a  third  time.  The  bullet 
brought  a  shower  of  plaster  from  the  ceiling,  and  Blake 
counted  with  fierce  exultation, 

"Three!" 

269 


THE   NET 

He  gasped  his  warning  to  the  woman  again,  then  twined 
his  leg  about  his  antagonist's  in  a  wrestler's  hold,  striving 
mightily  to  bear  Maruffi  against  the  wall.  But  Caesar 
was  like  an  oak-tree.  Failing  to  move  him,  Blake  sudden 
ly  flung  himself  backward,  with  all  his  weight,  lifting  at 
the  same  instant  in  the  hope  of  a  fall.  In  this  he  was  all 
but  successful.  The  two  reeled  out  into  the  room, 
tripped,  went  to  their  knees,  then  rose,  still  intertwined 
in  that  desperate  embrace.  The  odd,  stiff  feeling  in 
Blake's  side  had  increased  rapidly;  it  began  to  numb  his 
muscles  and  squeeze  his  lungs.  His  eyes  were  stinging 
with  sweat  and  smoke;  his  ears  were  roaring.  As  they 
swayed  and  turned  he  saw  that  Margherita  had  made  no 
effort  to  escape  and  he  was  seized  with  an  extraordinary 
rage,  which  for  a  brief  time  renewed  his  strength. 

She  was  at  the  front  window  crying  for  help. 

"Jump!  For — God's  sake,  jump!"  he  shouted,  but  she 
did  not  obey.  Instead  she  ran  toward  the  combatants 
and  seized  Maruffi's  free  arm,  in  a  measure  checking  his 
effort  to  break  the  other  man's  hold.  Her  closeness  to 
danger  agonized  Blake,  the  more  as  he  felt  his  own  strength 
ebbing,  under  that  stabbing  pain  in  his  side.  He  centered 
his  force  in  the  grip  of  his  left  hand,  clinging  doggedly 
while  the  Sicilian  flung  his  two  assailants  here  and  there 
as  a  dog  worries  a  scarf. 

Blake  fancied  he  heard  a  stamping  of  feet  in  the  hall 
outside  and  the  sound  of  voices,  of  heavy  bodies  crashing 
against  the  door.  Maruffi  heard  it,  too,  for  with  a  bellow 
of  fury  he  redoubled  his  exertions.  A  sweep  of  his  arm 
flung  the  girl  aside ;  with  a  mighty  wrench  of  his  body  he 
carried  Blake  half  across  the  room,  loosening  his  hold. 
Then  he  seized  him  by  the  throat  and  forced  his  head  back. 

The  shouting  outside  was  increasing,  the  pounding  was 
growing  louder.  Blake's  breath  was  cut  off  and  his 
strength  went  swiftly;  his  death  grip  on  the  Sicilian's 
body  slackened.  As  he  tore  at  the  fingers  which  were* 

270 


UNDER   FIRE 

throttling  him,  his  left  hand  slipped,  clung  to  Maruffi's 
sleeve,  and  finally  began  clawing  blindly  for  the  weapon. 
The  next  moment  he  was  hurled  aside,  so  violently  that 
he  fell,  his  feet  entangled  in  the  cushions  with  which  he 
had  defended  himself  against  the  first  shot. 

He  rose  and  renewed  his  attack,  hearing  Margherita 
cry  out  in  horror.  This  time  Maruffi  took  deliberate 
aim,  and  when  he  fired  the  figure  lurching  toward  him 
was  halted  as  if  by  some  giant  fist. 

"Four!"  Blake  counted.  He  was  hit,  he  knew,  but  he 
still  had  strength ;  there  were  but  two  more  shots  to  come. 
Then  he  was  dazed  to  find  himself  upon  his  knees.  As  if 
through  a  film  he  saw  the  Italian  turn  away  and  raise  his 
weapon  toward  the  girl,  who  was  wrenching  at  the  door. 

' '  Maruffi !"  he  shouted.  "Oh,  God !"  then  he  closed  his 
eyes  to  shut  out  what  followed.  But  he  heard  nothing, 
fur  he  slipped  forward,  face  down,  and  felt  himself  falling, 
falling,  into  silence  and  oblivion. 

As  O'Connell  made  his  way  toward  St.  Phillip  Street 
he  nursed  a  growing  resentment  at  the  news  Norvin  Blake 
had  given  him.  His  feeling  toward  Caesar  Maruffi  had  all 
the  fierceness  of  private  hatred,  calling  for  revenge,  and 
he  considered  himself  ill-used  in  that  he  had  not  even 
been  permitted  to  witness  the  arrest.  He  knew  Maruffi's 
countrymen  would  be  likely  to  make  a  demonstration, 
and  he  was  grimly  desirous  of  being  present  when  this  oc 
curred. 

As  he  neared  the  heart  of  the  Italian  section  he  saw 
a  blue-coated  officer  running  toward  him. 

"What's  up?"  he  cried.  "Have  the  dagoes  started 
something?" 

"MarufH  was  pinched,  but  he  got  away,"  the  other 
answered.     "Johnson  is  hurt,  and— 
:    O'Connell  lost  the  remaining  words,  for  he  had  broken 
into  a  run. 

271 


A  crowd  had  gathered  in  front  of  a  little  shop  where 
the  wounded  policeman  had  been  carried  to  await  the 
arrival  of  an  ambulance,  and  even  before  O'Connell  had 
heard  the  full  story  of  the  escape  Acting-Chief  O'Neil 
drove  up  behind  a  lathered  horse.  He  leaped  from  his 
mud-stained  buggy,  demanding,  hoarsely: 

' '  Where  is  he— Maruffi  ?" 

Officer  Dean,  Johnson's  companion,  met  him  at  the 
door  of  the  shop. 

"He  made  his  break  while  I  was  'phoning  you,"  he 
answered. 

"Hell!     Didn't  you  frisk  him?"  roared  the  Chief. 

"Sure!     But  we  missed  his  gun." 

"Cassar  carries  it  on  a  cord  around  his  neck — nigger- 
fashion,"  briefly  explained  O'Connell. 

Dean  was  running  on  excitedly :  "  I  heard  Johnson  holler, 
but  before  I  could  get  out  into  the  street  Maruffi  had  shot 
him  twice  and  was  into  that  alley  yonder.  I  tried  to  fol 
low,  but  lost  him,  so  I  came  back  and  sent  in  the  alarm." 

The  Acting  Chief  cursed  under  his  breath,  and  with  a 
few  sharp  orders  hurried  off  the  few  officers  who  had  reach 
ed  the  scene.  Then  as  an  ambulance  appeared  he  passed 
into  the  room  where  Johnson  lay.  As  he  emerged  a 
moment  later  O'Connell  drew  him  aside. 

"Maruffi  won't  try  to  leave  town  till  it's  good  and 
dark,"  he  said.  "He's  got  a  girl,  and  I've  an  idea  he'll 
ask  her  to  hide  him  out." 

"It  was  his  girl  who  turned  him  up — she  and  Blake — '' 

O'Connell  cried,  sharply:  "Wait!  Does  he  know  she 
did  that?  If  he  does,  he'll  make  for  her,  sure." 

"That  may  be.  Those  two  women  are  all  alone,  and 
I'd  feel  better  if  they  were  safely  out  of  the  way.  I'll 
leave  you  there  on  the  way  back." 

An  instant  later  they  were  clattering  over  the  uneven 
flags  while  their  vehicle  rocked  and  bounded  in  a  way 
that  threatf  ~°d  to  hurl  them  out. 

272 


UNDER    FI  RE 

Even  before  they  reached  their  destination  they  saw 
people  running  through  the  dusk  toward  the  house  in 
which  the  two  girls  lived  and  heard  a  shot  muffled  behind 
walls.  O'Neil  reined  the  horse  to  his  haunches  as  the 
shrill  cry  of  a  woman  rang  out  above  them,  and  the  next 
moment  he  and  O'Connell  were  inside,  rushing  up  the 
stairs  with  headlong  haste.  They  were  brought  to  a 
stop  before  a  bolted  door  from  behind  which  came  the 
sounds  of  a  furious  struggle. 

"Blake!    Norvin  Blake!"  shouted  O'Connell. 

"Break  it  down!"  O'Neil  ordered.  He  set  his  back 
against  the  opposite  wall,  then  launched  himself  like  a 
catapult.  The  patrolman  followed  suit,  but  although 
the  panels  strained  and  split  the  heavy  door  held. 

"By  God!  he's  in  there!"  the  Chief  cried,  as  he  set  his 
shoulder  to  the  barrier  for  a  second  time.  "Once  more! 
Together!"  Through  a  crevice  which  had  opened  in  the 
upper  panels  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dimly  lighted 
room.  What  they  saw  made  them  struggle  like  madmen. 

Another  shot  sounded,  and  O'Neil  in  desperation  in 
serted  his  fingers  in  the  opening  and  tore  at  it.  Through 
the  aperture  O'Connell  saw  Maruffi  run  to  an  open  window 
at  the  rear,  then  pause  long  enough  to  snatch  the  taper 
from  its  sconce  at  the  foot  of  the  little  shrine  and,  stoop 
ing,  touch  its  flame  to  the  long  lace  curtains.  They 
promptly  flashed  into  a  blaze.  Parting  them,  he  bestrode 
the  sill,  lowered  himself  outside,  and  disappeared.  It  was 
an  old  but  effective  ruse  to  delay  pursuit. 

"Quick!  He's  set  fire  to  the  place,"  O'Connell  gasped, 
and  dashed  down  the  hall. 

A  tremendous  final  heave  of  O'Neil's  body  cleared  his 
way,  a  few  strides  and  he  was  at  the  window,  ripping  the 
blazing  hangings  down  and  flinging  them  into  the  court 
below.  When  he  turned  it  was  to  behold  in  the  dim 
twilight  Vittoria  Fabrizi  kneeling  beside  Blake.  Her 
arms  were  about  him,  her  yellow  hair  entwined  his  figure- 
18  273 


THE    NET 

"A  light!  Somebody  get  a  light!"  the  Chief  roared 
to  those  who  had  followed  him  up  the  stairs,  then  seeing  a 
lamp  near  by  he  lit  it  hurriedly,  revealing  the  full  dis 
order  of  the  room.  He  knelt  beside  Vittoria,  who  drew 
the  fallen  man  closer  to  her,  moaning  something  in  Italian 
which  O'Neil  could  not  understand.  But  her  look  told 
him  enough,  and,  rising,  he  ordered  some  one  to  run  for  a 
doctor.  Strangers,  white-faced  and  horrified,  were  crowd 
ing  in;  the  sound  of  other  feet  came  from  the  stairs  out 
side,  questions  and  explanations  were  noisily  exchanged. 
O'Neil  swore  roundly  at  the  crowd  and  drove  it  ahead  of 
him  down  into  the  street,  where  he  set  a  man  to  guard 
the  door.  Then  he  returned  and  helped  the  girl  examine 
her  lover's  wounds.  Her  fingers  were  steady  and  sure, 
but  in  her  face  was  such  an  abandonment  of  grief  as  he 
had  never  seen,  and  her  voice  was  little  more  than  a  rasp 
ing  whisper.  They  were  still  working  when  the  doctor 
came,  followed  a  moment  later  by  a  disheveled,  stricken 
figure  of  tragedy  which  O'Neil  recognized  as  Oliveta. 

At  sight  of  her  foster-sister  the  peasant  girl  broke  into 
a  passion  of  weeping,  but  Vittoria  checked  her  with  an 
imperious  word,  meanwhile  keeping  her  tortured  eyes 
upon  the  physician.  She  waited  upon  him,  forestalling 
his  every  thought  and  need  with  a  mechanical  dexterity 
that  bore  witness  to  her  training,  but  all  the  while  her 
eyes  held  a  pitiful  entreaty.  Not  until  she  heard  O'Neil 
call  for  an  ambulance  did  she  rouse  herself  to  connected 
speech.  Then  she  exclaimed  with  hysterical  insistence: 

"You  shall  not  take  him  away!  I  am  a  nurse;  he 
shall  stay  here.  Who  better  than  I  could  attend  to 
him?" 

"He  can  stay  here  if  you  have  a  place  for  him,"  said 
the  doctor. 

O'Neil  drew  him  aside,  inquiring,  "Will  he  live?" 

The  doctor  indicated  Vittoria  with  a  movement  of  his 
head.  "I'm  sure  of  it.  That  girl  won't  let  him  die." 

274 


UNDER   FIRE 

The  news  of  that  combat  traveled  fast  and  far  and 
it  came  to  Myra  Nell  Warren  among  the  first.  Despite 
the  dreadful  false  position  in  which  Bernie  had  placed  her 
with  respect  to  Norvin,  the  girl  had  but  one  thought  and 
that  was  to  go  to  her  friend.  She  could  not  endure  the 
sight  of  blood,  and  her  somewhat  child-like  imagination 
conjured  up  a  gory  spectacle.  She  was  afraid  that  if  she 
tried  to  act  as  nurse  she  would  faint  or  run  away  when 
most  needed.  But  she  was  determined  to  go  to  him  and 
to  assist  in  any  way  she  could.  It  was  not  consistent 
with  her  ideas  of  loyalty  to  shrink  from  the  sight  of  suf 
fering  even  though  she  could  do  nothing  to  relieve  it. 

When  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  Oliveta's  living-quar 
ters  she  was  pale  and  agitated,  and  she  faltered  on  the 
threshold  at  the  sight  of  strangers.  Within  were  a  news 
paper  reporter,  a  doctor,  the  Chief  of  Police,  the  Mayor 
of  the  city,  while  outside  a  curious  throng  was  gathered. 
Seeing  Miss  Fabrizi,  she  ran  toward  her,  sobbing  ner 
vously. 

"Where  is  he,  Vittoria?    Tell  me  that  he's — safe!" 

Some  one  answered,  "He's  safe  and  resting  quietly." 

"T-take  me  to  him." 

A  spasm  stirred  Vittoria's  tired  features;  she  petted 
the  girl  with  a  comforting  hand,  while  Mayor  Wright  said, 
gently : 

"It  must  have  been  a  great  shock  to  you,  Myra  Nell, 
as  it  was  to  all  of  us,  but  you  may  thank  God  he  has  been 
spared  to  you." 

The  reporter  made  a  note  upon  his  pad,  and  began 
framing  the  heart  interest  of  his  story.  Here  was  a  new 
and  interesting  aspect  of  an  event  worth  many  columns. 

Vittoria  led  the  girl  toward  her  room,  but  outside  the 
door  Myra  Nell  paused,  shaking  in  every  limb. 

"You — you  love  him?"  asked  the  other  woman. 

The  look  which  Miss  Warren  gave  her  stabbed  like 
a  knife,  and  when  the  girl  had  sunk  to  her  knees  beside 

275 


THE    NET 

the  bed,  with  Blake's  name  upon  her  lips,  Vittoria  stood 
for  a  long  moment  gazing  down  upon  her  dazedly. 

Later,  when  she  had  sent  Myra  Nell  home  and  silence 
lay  over  the  city,  Norvin's  nurse  stole  into  the  great  front 
room  where  she  had  experienced  so  much  of  gladness  and 
horror  that  night,  and  made  her  way  wearily  to  the  little 
image  of  the  Virgin.  She  noted  with  a  start  that  the 
candle  was  gone,  so  she  lit  a  new  one  and,  kneeling  for 
many  minutes,  prayed  earnestly  for  strength  to  do  the 
right  and  to  quench  the  leaping,  dazzling  flame  which 
had  been  kindled  in  her  heart. 


XXII 

A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

SEVERAL  days  later  Vittoria  Fabrizi  led  Bernie  Dreux 
into  the  room  where  Norvin  lay.  The  little  man  walked 
on  tiptoe  and  wore  an  expression  of  such  gloomy  sym 
pathy  that  Blake  said: 

"Please  don't  look  so  blamed  pious;  it  makes  me  hurt 
all  over." 

Bernie's  features  lightened  faintly;  he  smiled  in  a 
manner  bordering  upon  the  natural. 

"They  wouldn't  let  me  see  you  before.  Lord!  How 
you  have  frightened  us!" 

"My  nurse  won't  let  me  talk." 

Blake's  eyes  rested  with  puzzled  interrogation  upon  the 
girl,  who  maintained  her  most  professional  air  as  she 
smoothed  his  pillow  and  admonished  him  not  to  overtax 
himself.  When  she  had  disappeared  noiselessly,  he  said: 

"Well,  you  needn't  put  a  rose  in  my  hand  yet  awhile. 
Tell  me  what  has  happened?  How  is  Myra  Nell?" 

"She's  heartbroken,  of  course.  She  came  here  that 
first  night;  but  the  smell  of  drugs  makes  her  sick." 

"I  suppose  Maruffi  got  away?" 

Dreux  straightened  in  his  chair;  his  face  flushed  proud 
ly;  he  put  on  at  least  an  inch  of  stature.  "Haven't  you 
heard?"  he  inquired,  incredulously. 

"How  could  I  hear  anything  when  I'm  doctored  by  a 
deaf-mute  and  nursed  by  a  divinity  without  a  tongue?" 

" Maruffi  was  captured  that  very  night.  Sure!  Why, 
the  whole  country  knows  about  it."  Again  a  look  of 

277 


THE    NET 

mellow  satisfaction  glowed  on  the  little  man's  face.  "  My 
dear  boy,  you're  a  hero,  of  course,  but — there — are — 
others." 

"Who  caught  him?" 

"I  did." 

"You!"     Norvin  stared  in  open-mouthed  amazement. 

"That's  what  I  said.  I — me — Mr.  Bernard  Effingwell 
Dreux,  the  prominent  cotillion  leader,  the  second-hand 
dealer,  the  art  critic  and  amateur  detective.  I  unearthed 
the  notorious  and  dreaded  Sicilian  desperado  in  his  lair, 
and  now  he's  cooling  his  heels  in  the  parish  prison  along 
with  his  little  friends." 

"Why— I'm  astonished." 

"Naturally!  I  found  him  in  Joe  Poggi's  house.  Mr. 
Poggi  also  languishes  in  the  bastille." 

"How  in  the  world — 

"Well,  it's  quite  a  story,  and  it  all  happened  through 
the  woman —  Bernie  flushed  a  bit  as  he  met  his  com 
panion's  eye.  "When  I  told  you  about  Mrs.  Poggi  I 
didn't  exactly  go  into  all  the  intimate— er — details.  The 
truth  is  she  became  deeply  interested  in  me.  I  told  you 
how  I  met  her —  Well,  she  wasn't  averse  to  receiving 
my  attentions —  Heavens,  no!  She  ate 'em  up!  Before 
I  knew  it  I  found  myself  entangled  in  an  intrigue— I  had 
hold  of  an  electric  current  and  couldn't  let  go.  When  I 
didn't  follow  her  around,  she  followed  me.  When  I 
didn't  make  love,  she  did.  She  learned  about  Felicite, 
and  there  was —  Excuse  me!"  Bernie  rose,  put  his 
head  cautiously  outside  the  door  to  find  the  coast  clear, 
then  said:  "Hell  to  pay!  I  tried  to  back  out;  but  you 
can't  back  away  from  some  women  any  more  than  you 
can  back  away  from  a  prairie  fire."  He  shook  his  head 
gloomily.  "It  seems  she  wasn't  satisfied  with  Poggi; 
she  had  ambitions.  She'd  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  life 
that  went  on  around  her  and  wanted  to  take  part  in  it. 
She  thought  I  was  rich,  too — my  name  had  something 

278 


A    MISUNDERSTANDING 

to  do  with  it,  I  presume — at  any  rate,  she  began  to  talk 
of  divorce,  elopement,  and  other  schemes  that  terrorized 
me.  She  was  quite  willing  that  I  murder  her  husband, 
poison  her  relatives,  or  adopt  any  little  expedient  of  that 
kind  which  would  clear  the  path  for  our  true  love.  I  was 
in  over  my  depth,  but  when  I  backed  water  she  swam 
out  and  grabbed  me.  When  I  stayed  away  from  her  she 
looked  me  up.  I  tried  once  to  tell  her  that  I  didn't 
really  care  for  her — only  once."  The  memory  brought 
beads  of  sweat  to  the  detective's  brow.  "Between  her 
and  Felicite  I  led  a  dog's  life.  If  I'd  had  the  money  I'd 
have  left  town. 

"I'd  been  meeting  her  on  street  corners  up  to  that 
point ;  but  she  finally  told  me  to  come  to  the  house  while 
Poggi  was  away — it  was  the  day  you  were  hurt.  I  re 
belled,  but  she  made  such  a  scene  I  had  to  agree  or  be 
arrested  for  blocking  traffic.  She  carries  a  dagger,  Nor- 
vin,  in  her  stocking,  or  somewhere;  it's  no  longer  than 
your  finger,  but  it's  the  meanest-looking  weapon  I  ever 
saw.  Well,  I  went,  along  about  dark,  determined  to 
have  it  out  with  her  once  for  all;  but  those  aristocrats 
during  the  French  Revolution  had  nothing  on  me.  I 
know  how  it  feels  to  mount  the  steps  of  the  guillotine. 

"The  Poggi's  parlor  furniture  is  upholstered  in  red  and 
smells  musty.  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  one  eye  on 
her  and  the  other  taking  in  my  surroundings.  There's  a 
fine  crayon  enlargement  of  Joe  with  his  uniform,  in  a 
gold  frame  with  blue  mosquito-netting  over  it  to  disap 
point  the  flies — four  ninety-eight,  and  we  supply  the 
frame — done  by  an  old  master  of  the  County  Fair  school. 
There's  an  organ  in  the  parlor,  too,  with  a  stuffed  fish- 
hawk  on  it. 

"She  seemed  quite  subdued  and  coy  at  first,  so  I  took 
heart,  never  dreaming  she'd  wear  her  dirk  in  the  house. 
But  say!  That  woman  was  raised  on  raw  beef.  Before 
I  could  wink  she  had  it  out ;  it  has  an  ivory  hilt,  and  you 

279 


THE    NET 

could  split  a  silk  thread  with  it.  I  suppose  she  didn't 
want  to  spoil  the  parlor  furniture  with  me,  although  I'd 
never  have  showed  against  that  upholstery,  or  else  she's 
in  the  habit  of  preparing  herself  for  manslaughter  by  a 
system  of  vocal  calisthenics.  At  any  rate,  we  were 
having  it  hot  and  heavy,  and  I  was  trying  to  think  of 
some  good  and  unselfish  actions  I  had  done,  when  we 
heard  the  back  door  of  the  cottage  open  and  close,  then 
somebody  moving  in  the  hall. 

"Mrs.  Poggi  turned  green — not  white — green!  And  I 
began  to  picture  the  head-lines  in  the  morning  papers! 
'The  Bachelor  and  the  Policeman's  Wife,'  they  seemed  to 
say.  It  wasn't  Poggi,  however,  as  I  discovered  when  the 
fellow  called  to  her.  He  was  breathing  heavily,  as  if  he 
had  been  running.  She  signaled  me  to  keep  quiet,  then 
went  out;  and  I  heard  them  talking,  but  couldn't  under 
stand  what  was  said.  When  she  came  back  she  was 
greener  than  ever,  and  told  me  to  go,  which  I  did,  realiz 
ing  that  the  day  of  miracles  is  not  done.  I  fell  down 
three  times,  and  ran  over  a  child  getting  out  of  that 
neighborhood. ' ' 

Blake,  who  had  listened  eagerly,  inquired: 

"The  man  was  Maruffi?" 

"Exactly!  I  got  back  to  the  club  in  time  to  hear  about 
his  arrest  and  escape  and  your  fight  here.  The  town 
was  ringing  with  it ;  everybody  was  horrified  and  amazed. 
What  particularly  stunned  me  was  the  news  that  Maruffi, 
not  Poggi,  was  the  head  of  the  Mafia;  but  my  experience 
in  criminal  work  has  taught  me  to  be  guided  by  circum 
stances,  and  not  theory,  so  when  I  learned  more  about 
Ccesar's  escape  I  fell  to  wondering  where  he  could  hide. 
Then  I  recalled  his  secret  meetings  with  Joe  Poggi  and 
that  scalding  volcano  of  emotion  from  whom  I  had  just 
been  delivered.  Her  fright,  when  she  let  me  out,  some 
thing  familiar  in  the  voice  which  called  to  her,  came  back, 
and — well,  I  couldn't  help  guessing  the  truth.  Maruffi 

280 


A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

was  in  the  house  of  one  of  the  officers  who  was  supposed 
to  be  hunting  him." 

"But  his  capture?" 

"  Simple  enough.  I  went  to  O'Neil  and  told  him.  We 
got  a  posse  together  and  went  after  him.  We  descended 
in  such  force  and  so  suddenly  that  he  didn't  have  a  chance 
to  resist.  If  I'd  known  who  he  was  at  first  I'd  have  tried 
to  take  him  single-handed." 

"Then  it's  well  you  didn't  know."     Blake  smiled. 

"What  bothers  me,"  Dreux  confessed,  "is  how  Mrs. 
Poggi  regards  my  action.  I — I  hate  to  appear  a  cad. 
I'd  apologize  if  I  dared." 

Vittoria  appeared  to  warn  Dreux  that  his  visit  must 
end.  When  the  little  man  had  gone  Norvin  inquired: 

"You  knew  of  Maruffi's  arrest?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"You  were  in  no  condition  to  hear  news  of  importance." 

"Is  that  why  you  have  been  so  silent?" 

"Hush!  You  have  talked  quite  enough  for  the  pres 
ent." 

"You  act  strangely — differently,"  he  insisted. 

"I  am  your  nurse.  I  am  responsible  for  your  recovery, 
so  I  do  as  I  am  ordered." 

"And  you  haven't  changed?"  he  inquired,  wistfully. 

"Not  at  all,  I  am  quite  the  same — quite  the  same  girl 
you  knew  in  Sicily!"  He  did  not  relish  her  undertone, 
and  wondered  if  illness  had  quickened  his  imagination, 
if  he  was  forever  seeing  more  in  her  manner,  hearing  more 
in  her  words  than  she  meant.  There  was  something  in 
tangibly  cold  and  distant  about  her,  or  seemed  to  be. 
During  the  first  feverish  hours  after  his  return  to  con 
sciousness  he  had  seen  her  hanging  over  him  with  a  won 
derful  loving  tenderness — it  was  that  which  had  closed 
his  wounds  and  brought  him  back  toward  health  so 
swiftly;  but  as  his  brain  had  cleared  and  he  had  grown 

281 


THE    NET 

more  rational  this  vision  had  disappeared  along  with  his 
other  fancies. 

He  wondered  whether  knowledge  of  his  pseudo-engage 
ment  to  Myra  Nell  had  anything  to  do  with  her  manner. 
He  knew  that  she  was  in  the  girl's  confidence.  Naturally, 
he  himself  was  not  quite  at  his  ease  in  regard  to  Miss 
Warren.  The  rumor  about  his  advancing  the  money  for 
her  Carnival  expenses  had  been  quieted  through  Bernie's 
efforts,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  restricted  to  a  necessary 
few.  Although  Myra  Nell  had  refused  his  offers  of  mar 
riage  and  treated  the  matter  lightly,  he  could  not  help 
feeling  that  this  attitude  was  assumed  or  exaggerated 
to  cover  her  humiliation — or  was  it  something  deeper? 
It  would  be  terrible  if  she  really  cared  for  him  in  earnest. 
Her  own  character  protected  her  from  scandal.  The 
breaking-off  of  his  supposed  engagement  with  her  could 
not  hurt  her — unless  she  really  loved  him.  He  closed 
his  eyes,  cursing  Bernie  inwardly.  After  a  time  he  again 
addressed  Vittoria. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "how  Maruffi  came  to  spare  you. 
My  last  vision  was  of  him  aiming — " 

"He  had  but  four  shots." 

"Four?" 

"Yes,  he  had  used  two  in  his  escape  from  the  officers 
— before  he  came  here." 

"I  see!  It  was  horrible.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  failed  you 
at  the  critical  moment,  just  as  I  failed — 

"As  you  failed  whom?" 

"Martel!"  The  word  sounded  in  his  ears  with  a  ter 
rible  significance;  he  could  hardly  realize  that  he  had 
spoken  it.  He  had  always  meant  to  tell  her,  of  course, 
but  the  moment  had  taken  him  unawares.  His  conscience, 
his  inmost  feeling,  had  found  a  voice  apart  from  his  voli 
tion.  There  was  a  little  silence.  At  length  she  said  in 
a  low,  constrained  tone: 

"Did  you  fail — him?" 

282 


A    MISUNDERSTANDING 

"I — I  did,"  he  said,  chokingly;  and,  the  way  once 
opened,  he  made  a  full  and  free  confession  of  his  craven 
fear  that  night  on  the  road  to  Terranova,  told  her  of  the 
inherent  cowardice  which  had  ever  since  tortured  and 
shamed  him,  and  of  his  efforts  to  reconstruct  his  whole 
being.  "I  wanted  to  expiate  my  sin,"  he  finished,  "and, 
above  all,  I  have  longed  to  prove  myself  a  man  in  your 
sight." 

She  listened  with  white,  set  face,  slightly  averted. 
When  she  turned  to  him  at  last,  he  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  wet  with  tears. 

"I  cannot  judge  of  these  matters,"  she  said.  "You — 
you  were  no  coward  the  other  night,  amico  mio.  You 
were  the  bravest  of  the  brave.  You  saved  my  life.  As 
for  that  other  time,  do  not  ask  me  to  turn  back  and  judge. 
You  perhaps  blame  yourself  too  much.  It  was  not  as 
if  you  could  have  saved  Martel.  It  is  rather  that  you 
should  have  at  least  tried — that  is  how  you  feel,  is  it 
not?  You  had  to  reckon  with  your  own  sense  of  honor. 
Well,  you  have  won  your  fight;  you  have  become  a  new 
person,  and  you  are  not  to  be  held  responsible  for  any 
action  of  that  Norvin  Blake  I  knew  in  Sicily,  who,  in 
deed,  did  not  know  his  own  weakness  and  could  not  guard 
against  it.  Ever  since  I  met  you  here  in  New  Orleans 
I  have  known  you  for  a  brave,  strong  man.  It  is  splendid 
— the  way  in  which  you  have  conquered  yourself — splen 
did!  Few  men  could  have  done  it.  Be  comforted,"  she 
added,  with  a  note  of  tenderness  that  answered  the  plead 
ing  in  his  eyes — "there  is  no  bitterness  in  my  heart." 

"Margherita,"  he  cried,  desperately,  "can't  you — 
won't  you — " 

"Oh,"  she  interposed,  peremptorily,  "do  not  say  it. 
I  forbid  you  to  speak."  Then,  as  he  fell  silent,  she  con 
tinued  in  a  manner  she  strove  to  make  natural:  "That 
dear  girl,  Myra  Nell  Warren,  has  inquired  about  you 
daily.  She  has  been  distracted,  heartbroken.  Believe 

283 


THE   NET 

I 

me,  caro  Norvin,  there  is  a  true  and  loving  woman  whom 
you  cannot  cast  aside.  She  seems  frivolous  on  the  sur 
face,  I  grant  you.  Even  I  have  been  deceived.  But  at 
the  time  of  Mr.  Dreux's  dreadful  faux  pas  she  was  so 
hurt,  she  grieved  so  that  I  couldn't  but  believe  she  felt 
deeply." 

Norvin  flushed  dully  and  said  nothing. 

Vittoria  smiled  down  upon  him  with  a  look  that  was 
half  maternal  in  its  sweetness. 

"All  this  has  been  painful  for  you,"  she  said,  "and 
you  have  become  over-excited.  You  must  not  talk  any 
more  now.  You  are  to  be  moved  soon." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  be  my  nurse  any  more?" 

"You  are  to  be  taken  home." 

His  hand  encountered  hers,  and  he  tried  to  thank  her 
for  what  she  had  done,  but  she  rose  and,  admonishing  him 
to  sleep,  left  the  room  somewhat  hurriedly. 

In  the  short  time  which  intervened  before  Norvin  was 
taken  to  his  own  quarters  Vittoria  maintained  her  air 
of  cool  detachment.  Myra  Nell  came  once,  bringing 
Bernie  with  her,  much  to  the  sick  man's  relief;  his  other 
friends  began  to  visit  him  in  rapidly  increasing  numbers; 
he  gradually  took  up  the  threads  of  his  every-day  life 
which  had  been  so  rudely  severed.  Meanwhile,  he  had 
ample  time  to  think  over  his  situation.  He  could  not  per 
suade  himself  that  Vittoria  had  been  right  in  her  reading 
of  Myra  Nell.  Perhaps  she  had  only  put  this  view  for 
ward  to  shield  herself  from  the  expression  of  a  love  she 
was  not  ready  to  receive.  He  could  not  believe  that  he 
had  been  deluded,  that  there  was  in  reality  no  hope  for 
him. 

Mardi  Gras  week  found  him  still  in  bed  and  unable  to 
witness  Myra  Nell's  triumph.  During  the  days  of  furious 
social  activity  she  had  little  time  to  give  him,  for  the  series 
of  luncheons,  of  pageants,  of  gorgeous  tableaux  and  bril 
liant  masked  balls  kept  her  in  a  whirl  of  rapturous  con- 

284 


A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

fusion,  and  left  her  scant  leisure  in  which  to  snatch  even 
her  beauty  sleep. 

Since  she  was  to  be  the  flower  of  the  festival,  and  since 
her  beauty  was  being  saved  for  the  grand  climax  of  the 
whole  affair,  she  had  no  idea  of  sacrificing  it.  Proteus, 
Momus,  the  Mistick  Krewe  of  Comus,  and  the  other  lesser 
societies  celebrated  their  distinctive  nights  with  torch  and 
float  and  tableau;  the  city  was  transformed  by  day  with 
bunting  and  flags,  by  night  it  was  garlanded  with  fire; 
merrymakers  thronged  the  streets,  their  carnival  spirit 
entered  into  every  breast.  It  was  a  glad,  mad  week  of 
gaiety,  of  dancing,  of  laughter,  of  flirting  and  love-making 
under  the  glamour  of  balmy  skies  and  velvet  torch-lit 
nights;  and  to  the  pleasure  of  the  women  was  added  the 
delicious  torture  of  curiosity  regarding  those  mysterious 
men  in  masks  who  came  through  a  blaze  of  fire  and  de 
parted,  no  one  knew  whither. 

As  the  spirit  of  the  celebration  mounted,  Myra  Nell 
abandoned  herself  to  it;  she  lived  amid  a  bewilderment 
of  social  obligations,  through  which  she  strove  incessant 
ly  to  discover  the  identity  of  her  King.  Finding  herself 
unsuccessful  in  this,  her  excitement  redoubled.  At  last 
came  his  entrance  to  the  city;  the  booming  cannon, 
the  applauding  thousands,  his  royal  progress  through  the 
streets  toward  the  flower-festooned  stand  where  she 
looked  down  upon  the  multitude.  Miss  Warren's  maids 
of  honor  were  the  fairest  of  all  this  fair  city,  and  yet  she 
stood  out  of  that  galaxy  as  by  far  the  most  entrancing. 
.  Her  royal  consort  came  at  length,  a  majestic  figure 
upon  a  float  of  ivory  and  gold;  he  took  the  goblet  from 
her  hand;  he  pledged  her  with  silent  grace  while  the 
assembled  hordes  shouted  their  allegiance  to  the  pair. 
She  knew  he  must  be  very  handsome  underneath  his  mask ; 
and  he  was  bold  also,  in  a  quite  unkingly  way,  for  there 
was  more  in  his  glance  than  the  greeting  of  a  monarch; 
there  was  ardent  love,  a  burning  adoration  which  thrilled 

285 


THE   NET 

her  breast  and  fanned  her  curiosity  to  a  leaping  flame. 
This  was,  indeed,  life,  romance,  the  purple  splendor  for 
which  she  had  been  born.  She  could  scarcely  contain 
herself  until  the  hour  of  the  Rex  ball,  when  she  knew  her 
chance  would  come  to  match  her  charm  and  beauty 
against  his  voiceless  secrecy.  She  was  no  longer  a  make- 
believe  queen,  but  a  royal  ruler,  beloved  by  her  subjects, 
adored  by  her  throne-mate.  Then  the  glittering  ball  that 
followed! — the  blazing  lights,  the  splendid  pantomime, 
the  great  shifting  kaleidoscope  of  beauteous  ladies  and 
knightly  men  in  gold  and  satin  and  coats  of  mail !  And, 
above  all,  the  maddening  mystery  of  that  king  at  her  side 
whose  glances  were  now  melting  with  melancholy,  now 
ablaze  with  eagerness,  and  whose  whispered  words, 
muffled  behind  his  mask,  were  not  those  of  a  monarch, 
but  rather  those  of  a  bold  and  audacious  lover!  He 
poured  his  vows  into  her  blushing  ear;  he  set  her  wits 
to  scampering  madly;  his  sincere  passion,  together  with 
the  dream-like  unreality  of  the  scene,  intoxicated  her. 
Who  could  he  be?  How  dared  he  say  these  things? 
What  faint  familiar  echo  did  his  voice  possess?  Which 
one  of  her  many  admirers  had  the  delightful  effrontery 
to  court  her  thus  ardently  beneath  a  thousand  eyes?  He 
was  drunk  with  the  glory  of  this  hour,  it  seemed,  for  he 
whispered  words  she  dared  not  listen  to.  What  pre 
posterous  proposals  he  voiced;  what  insane  audacity  he 
showed!  And  yet  he  was  in  deadly  earnest,  too.  She 
canvassed  her  many  suitors  in  her  mind,  she  tried  art 
fully  to  trap  him  into  some  betrayal;  the  game  thrilled 
her  with  a  keen  delight.  At  last  she  realized  there  was 
but  one  who  possessed  such  brazen  impudence,  and  told 
him  she  had  known  him  from  the  first,  whereat  he  laughed 
with  the  abandon  of  a  pagan  and  renewed  the  fervor  of 
his  suit. 

Blake  learned  from  many  sources  that  Myra  Nell  had 
made  a  gorgeous  Queen.     The  papers  lauded  her  grace, 

286 


A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

her  beauty,  the  magnificence  of  her  costumes.  Bernie 
was  full  of  it  and  could  talk  of  nothing  else  when  he 
dropped  in  as  usual. 

"She's  all  tired  out,  and  I  reckon  she'll  sleep  for  a 
week.  I  hope  so,  anyhow." 

"I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  see  her,  but  I'm  glad  I  escaped 
the  Carnival.  The  Mardi  Gras  is  hard  enough  on  the 
women;  but  it  kills  us  men." 

"I  should  say  so.  Look  at  me — a  wreck."  After  a 
moment  he  added:  "You  think  Myra  Nell  is  all  frivolity 
and  glitter,  but  she  isn't ;  she's  as  deep  as  the  sea,  Norvin. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you  two — "  Blake 
stirred  uneasily.  "I — I  admire  you  tremendously,  for 
you're  just  what  I  wanted  to  be  and  couldn't.  I'm  talk 
ing  foolishly,  I  know,  but  this  Carnival  has  made  me  see 
Myra  Nell  in  a  new  light;  I  see  now  that  she  was  born 
for  joy  and  luxury  and  splendor  and — and  those  things 
which  you  can  give  her.  She's  been  a  care  to  me.  I've 
been  her  mother;  I've  actually  made  her  dresses — but 
I'm  glad  now  for  all  my  little  sacrifices."  Two  tears 
gathered  and  trickled  down  Mr.  Dreux's  cheeks,  while 
Blake  marveled  at  the  strange  mixture  of  qualities  in 
this  withered  little  beau.  Bernie's  words  left  him  very 
uncomfortable,  however,  and  the  hours  that  followed  did 
not  lessen  the  feeling. 

Although  Myra  Nell  sent  him  daily  messages  and  gifts — 
now  books,  now  flowers,  now  a  plate  of  fudge  which  she 
had  made  with  her  own  hands  and  which  he  was  hard 
put  to  dispose  of — she  nevertheless  maintained  a  shy  em 
barrassment  and  came  to  see  him  but  seldom.  When 
she  did  call,  her  attitude  was  most  unusual:  she  over 
flowed  with  gossip,  yet  she  talked  with  a  nervous  hesita 
tion;  when  she  found  his  eyes  upon  her  she  stammered, 
flushed,  and  paled;  and  he  caught  her  stealing  glances  of 
miserable  appeal  at  him.  She  was  very  different  from  the 
girl  he  had  known  and  had  learned  to  love  in  a  big,  im- 

287 


THE   NET 

personal  way.  He  attributed  the  change  to  his  own  fail- 
tire  in  responding  to  her  timid  advances,  and  this  made 
him  quite  unhappy. 

Nor  did  he  see  much  of  Vittoria,  although  Oliveta  came 
daily  to  inquire  about  his  progress. 

He  was  up  and  about  in  time  for  the  Mafia  trial;  but 
his  duties  in  connection  with  it  left  him  little  leisure  for 
society,  which  he  was  indeed  glad  to  escape.  New  Orleans, 
he  found,  was  on  tiptoe  for  the  climax  of  the  tragedy 
which  had  so  long  been  its  source  of  ferment;  the  public 
was  roused  to  a  new  and  even  keener  suspense  than  at 
any  time — not  so  much,  perhaps,  by  the  reopening  of  the 
case  as  by  the  rumors  of  bribery  and  corruption  which 
were  gaining  ground.  A  startling  array  of  legal  talent 
had  appeared  for  the  defense;  the  trial  was  expected  to 
prove  the  greatest  legal  battle  in  the  history  of  the  com 
monwealth. 

Maruffi,  with  his  genius  for  control,  had  assumed  an 
iron-bound  leadership  and  laughed  openly  at  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  conviction.  He  had  struck  the  note  of  per 
secution,  making  a  patriotic  appeal  to  the  Italian  pop 
ulace;  and  the  foreign  section  of  the  city  seethed  in 
consequence. 

On  the  opening  day  the  court-room  was  packed,  the 
halls  and  corridors  of  the  Criminal  Court  building  were 
filled  to  suffocation,  the  neighboring  streets  were  jammed 
with  people  clamoring  for  admittance  and  hungry  for 
news  from  within.  Then  began  the  long,  tedious  task  of 
selecting  a  jury.  Public  opinion  had  run  so  high  that 
this  was  no  easy  undertaking.  As  day  after  day  went 
by  in  the  monotonous  examination  and  challenge  of  tales 
men,  as  panel  after  panel  was  exhausted  with  no  result, 
not  only  did  the  ridiculous  shortcomings  of  our  jury 
system  become  apparent,  but  also  the  fact  that  the  Mafia 
had,  as  usual,  made  full  use  of  its  sinister  powers  of  in 
timidation.  In  view  of  the  atrocious  character  of  the 

288 


A   MISUNDERSTANDING 

crime  and  the  immense  publicity  given  it,  those  citizens 
who  were  qualified  by  intelligence  to  act  as  jurors  had  of 
necessity  read  and  heard  sufficient  to  form  an  opinion, 
and  were  therefore  automatically  debarred  from  service. 
It  became  necessary  to  place  the  final  adjudication  of  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  men  who  were  either  utterly  in 
different  to  the  public  weal  or  lacked  the  intelligence  to 
read  and  weigh  and  think. 

A  remarkable  wave  of  humanity  seemed  to  have  over 
whelmed  the  city.  Four  out  of  every  five  men  examined 
professed  a  disbelief  in  capital  punishment,  which,  al 
though  it  merely  covered  a  fear  of  the  Mafia's  antago 
nism,  nevertheless  excused  them  for  cause.  Day  after 
day  this  mockery  went  on. 

As  the  list  of  talesmen  grew  into  the  hundreds  and  the 
same  extraordinary  antipathy  to  hanging  continued  to 
manifest  itself,  it  occasioned  remark,  then  ridicule.  It 
would  have  been  laughable  had  it  not  been  so  significant. 
The  papers  took  it  up,  urging,  exhorting,  demanding  that 
there  be  a  stiffening  of  backbone;  but  to  no  effect.  More 
than  this,  the  Mafia  had  reigned  so  long  and  so  auto 
cratically,  it  had  so  shamefully  abused  the  courts  in  the 
past,  that  a  large  proportion  of  honest  men  declared 
themselves  unwilling  to  believe  Sicilian  testimony  unless 
corroborated,  and  this  prevented  them  from  serving. 

A  week  went  by,  and  then  another,  and  still  twelve 
men  who  could  try  the  issue  fairly  had  not  been  found. 
Some  few  had  been  accepted,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were 
not  representative  of  the  city,  and  the  list  of  talesmen 
who  had  been  examined  and  excused  on  one  pretext  or 
another  numbered  fully  a  thousand. 

Meanwhile,  Maruffi  smiled  and  shrugged  and  main 
tained  his  innocence. 
19 


XXIII 

THE   TRIAL  AND   THE   VERDICT 

BLAKE  did  not  attend  these  tiresome  preliminaries,  al 
though  he  followed  them  with  intense  interest,  the  while 
a  sardonic  irritation  arose  in  him.  Chancing  to  meet 
Mayor  Wright  one  day,  he  said: 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  my  original  plan  was  the  best 
after  all." 

"You  mean  we  should  have  lynched  those  fellows  as 
they  were  taken?"  queried  the  Mayor,  with  a  smile. 

"Something  like  that." 

"It  won't  take  long  to  fix  their  guilt  or  innocence,  once 
we  get  a  jury." 

"Perhaps — if  we  ever  get  one.  But  the  men  of  New 
Orleans  seem  filled  with  a  quality  of  mercy  which  isn't 
tempered  with  justice.  Those  who  haven't  already  formed 
an  opinion  of  the  case  are  incompetent  to  act  as  intelli 
gent  jurors.  Those  who  could  render  a  fair  judgment 
are  afraid." 

"You  don't  think  there's  any  chance  of  an  acquittal!" 

"Hardly!  And  yet  I  hear  the  defense  has  called  two 
hundred  witnesses,  so  there's  no  telling  what  they  will 
prove.  You  see,  the  prosecution  is  handicapped  by  a 
regard  for  the  truth,  something  which  doesn't  trouble  the 
other  side  in  the  least." 

"Suppose  they  should  be  acquitted?" 

"It  would  mean  the  breakdown  of  our  legal  system." 

"And  what  would  happen?" 

Blake  repeated  the  question,  eyeing  the  Mayor  curiously. 

290 


THE    TRIAL   AND   THE    VERDICT 

"Exactly!  What  would  happen?  What  ought  to 
happen?" 

"Why,  nothing,"  said  the  other,  nervously.  "They'd 
go  free,  I  suppose.  But  Martini  can't  get  off — he  resisted 
an  officer." 

"Bah!  He'd  prove  that  Johnson  assaulted  him  and 
he  acted  in  self-defense." 

"He'd  have  to  answer  for  his  attack  upon  you." 

Norvin  gave  a  peculiarly  disagreeable  laugh.  "Not  at 
all.  That's  the  least  of  his  sins.  If  the  law  fails  in  the 
Donnelly  case  I  sha'n't  ask  it  to  help  me." 

But  his  pessimism  gave  way  to  a  more  hopeful  frame 
of  mind  when  the  jury  was  finally  impaneled  and  sworn 
and  the  trial  began.  The  whole  city  likewise  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief.  The  people  had  been  puzzled  and  disgusted  by 
the  delay,  and  now  looked  forward  to  the  outcome  with 
all  the  keener  eagerness  to  see  justice  done.  Even  before 
the  hour  for  opening,  the  streets  around  the  Criminal 
Court  were  thronged;  the  halls  and  lobbies  were  packed 
with  a  crowd  which  gave  evidence  of  a  breathless  interest. 
No  inch  of  space  in  the  court-room  was  untenanted;  an 
air  of  deep  importance,  a  hush  of  strained  expectancy  lay 
over  all. 

Norvin  found  himself  in  a  room  with  the  other  witnesses 
for  the  State,  a  goodly  crowd  of  men  and  women,  whites 
and  blacks,  many  of  whom  he  had  been  instrumental  in 
ferreting  out.  From  beyond  came  the  murmur  of  a  great 
assemblage,  the  shuffling  of  restless  feet,  the  breathing  of 
a  densely  packed  audience.  The  wait  grew  tedious  as 
witness  after  witness  was  summoned  and  did  not  return. 
At  last  he  heard  his  own  name  called,  and  was  escorted 
down  a  narrow  aisle  into  an  inclosure  peopled  with  law 
yers,  reporters,  and  court  officials,  above  which  towered 
the  dais  of  the  judge,  the  throne  of  justice.  He  mounted 
the  witness-stand,  was  sworn,  and  seated  himself,  then 
permitted  his  eyes  to  take  in  the  scene.  Before  him, 

291 


THE   NET 

stretching  back  to  the  distant  walls,  was  a  sea  of  faces;  to 
his  right  was  the  jury,  which  he  scanned  with  the  quick 
appraisal  of  one  skilled  in  human  analysis.  Between 
him  and  his  audience  were  the  distinguished  counsel,  a 
dozen  or  more;  and  back  of  them  eleven  swarthy,  dark- 
visaged  Sicilian  men,  seated  in  a  row.  At  one  end  sat 
Caesar  Maruffi,  massive,  calm,  powerful ;  at  the  other  end 
sat  Gino  Cressi,  huddled  beside  his  father,  his  pinched 
face  bewildered  and  terror-stricken. 

A  buzz  of  voices  arose  as  the  crowd  caught  its  first  full 
glimpse  of  the  man  who  had  so  nearly  lost  his  life  through 
his  efforts  to  bring  these  criminals  to  justice.  Upon 
Maruffi's  face  was  a  look  of  such  malignant  hate  that  the 
witness  stiffened  in  his  chair.  For  one  brief  instant  the 
Sicilian  laid  bare  his  soul,  as  their  eyes  met,  then  his 
cunning  returned;  the  fire  died  from  his  impenetrable  eyes; 
he  was  again  the  handsome,  solid  merchant  who  had  sat 
with  Donnelly  at  the  Red  Wing  Club.  The  man  showed  no 
effect  of  his  imprisonment  and  betrayed  no  sign  of  fear. 

Norvin  told  his  story  simply,  clearly,  with  a  positive- 
ness  which  could  not  fail  to  impress  the  jury;  he  with 
stood  a  grilling  cross-examination  at  the  hands  of  a 
criminal  lawyer  whose  reputation  was  more  than  State 
wide;  and  when  he  finally  descended  from  the  stand, 
Larubio,  the  cobbler,  the  senior  Cressi,  and  Frank  Nor- 
mando  stood  within  the  shadow  of  the  gallows.  Nor- 
mando  he  identified  as  the  man  in  the  rubber  coat  whose 
face  he  had  clearly  seen  as  the  final  shot  was  fired;  he 
pointed  out  Gino  Cressi  as  the  picket  who  had  given  warn 
ing  of  the  Chief's  approach,  then  told  of  his  share  in  the 
lad's  arrest  and  what  Gino  had  said.  Concerning  the 
other  three  who  had  helped  in  the  shooting  he  had  no 
conclusive  evidence  to  offer;  nevertheless,  it  was  plain 
that  his  testimony  had  dealt  a  damaging  blow  to  the 
defense.  Yet  Marufn's  glance  showed  no  concern,  but 
rather  a  veiled  and  mocking  insolence. 

292 


THE   TRIAL   AND   THE    VERDICT 

As  Blake  passed  out,  young  Cressi  reached  forth  a  timid 
hand  and  plucked  at  him,  whispering: 

"Signore,  you  said  they  would  not  hurt  me." 

"Don't  be  afraid.  No  one  shall  harm  you,"  he  told 
the  boy,  reassuringly. 

"You  promise?" 

"Yes." 

Cressi  snatched  his  son  to  his  side  and  scowled  upward, 
breathing  a  malediction  upon  the  American. 

Inasmuch  as  the  assassination  had  been  carefully 
planned  and  executed  at  a  late  hour  on  a  deserted  street, 
it  was  popularly  believed  that  very  little  direct  testimony 
would  be  brought  out,  and  that  a  conviction,  therefore, 
would  rest  mainly  upon  circumstantial  evidence;  but  as 
the  trial  progressed  the  case  against  the  prisoners  de 
veloped  unexpected  strength.  Had  Donnelly  fallen  at  the 
first  volley,  his  assailants  would,  in  all  probability,  never 
have  been  identified,  but  he  had  stood  and  returned  their 
fire  for  a  considerable  time,  thus  allowing  opportunity  for 
those  living  near  by  to  reach  their  windows  or  to  run  into 
the  street  in  time  to  catch  at  least  a  glimpse  of  the  tragedy. 
Few  saw  more  than  a  little,  no  one  could  identify  all  six 
of  the  assailants;  but  so  thoroughly  had  the  prosecution 
worked,  so  cunningly  had  it  put  these  pieces  together,  that 
the  whole  scene  was  reproduced  in  the  court-room.  The 
murderers  were  singled  out  one  by  one  and  identified 
beyond  a  reasonable  doubt. 

One  witness  had  passed  Larubio's  shop  a  few  minutes 
before  the  shooting  and  had  recognized  the  cobbler  and 
his  brother-in-law,  Gaspardo  Cressi.  He  also  pointed  out 
Normando  and  Paul  Rafiro,  both  of  whom  he  knew  by 
sight. 

From  an  upper  window  of  a  house  near  by  another  man 
who  had  been  awakened  by  the  noise  saw  Normando  and 
Celso  Fabbri  in  the  act  of  firing.  A  woman  living  op 
posite  the  cobbler's  house  peered  out  into  the  smoke  and 

293 


THE    NET 

flare  in  time  to  see  Adriano  Dora  kneeling  in  the  middle 
of  the  street.  He  was  facing  her;  the  light  was  fairly 
good;  there  could  be  no  mistake.  Various  residents  of 
the  neighborhood  had  similar  tales  to  tell,  for,  while  no  one 
had  seen  the  beginning  of  the  fight,  a  dozen  pairs  of  eyes 
had  looked  out  upon  the  finish,  and  many  of  these  had 
recorded  a  definite  picture  of  one  or  more  of  the  actors. 
A  gentleman  returning  from  a  lodge-meeting  had  even 
found  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  battle,  and  had  been  so 
frightened  that  he  ran  straight  home.  He  had  learned, 
later,  the  significance  of  the  fray,  and  had  told  nobody 
about  his  experience  until  Norvin  Blake  had  traced  him 
out  and  wrung  the  story  from  him.  He  feared  the  Mafia 
with  the  fear  of  death;  but  descending  from  the  stand 
he  pointed  out  four  of  the  assassins — Normando,  Fabbri, 
Rafiro,  and  Dora.  He  had  seen  them  in  the  very  act  of 
firing. 

A  watchman  on  duty  near  by  saw  the  boy  Gino  running 
past  a  moment  before  the  shooting  began;  then,  as  he 
hurried  toward  the  disturbance,  he  met  Normando,  Dora, 
and  Rafiro  coming  toward  him.  The  first  of  these  carried 
a  shotgun,  which  dropped  into  the  gutter  as  he  slipped 
and  fell.  The  weapon  and  the  suit  of  clothes  Normando 
had  worn  were  produced  and  identified.  It  transpired 
that  this  witness  knew  Paul  Rafiro  well,  and  for  that 
reason  had  refused  to  tell  what  he  knew  until  Norvin 
Blake  had  come  to  him  and  forced  the  words  from  his 
lips. 

So  it  ran;  the  chain  of  evidence  grew  heavier  with  every 
hour.  It  seemed  that  some  superhuman  agency  must 
have  set  the  stage  for  the  tragedy,  posting  witnesses  at 
advantageous  points.  People  marveled  how  so  many 
eyes  had  gazed  through  the  empty,  rainy  night;,  it  was 
as  if  a  mysterious  hand  had  reached  out  of  nowhere  and 
brought  together  the  onlookers,  one  by  one,  willing  and 
unwilling,  friend  and  enemy  alike. 

294 


THE    TRIAL    AND   THE    VERDICT 

A  more  conclusive  case  than  the  State  advanced  against 
the  six  hired  murderers  during  the  first  few  days  would 
be  hard  to  conceive,  and  the  public  began  to  look  for 
equally  conclusive  proof  against  the  master  ruffian  and 
his  lieutenants;  but  through  it  all  Maruffi  sat  unper 
turbed,  guiding  the  counsel  with  a  word  or  a  suggestion, 
in  his  bearing  a  calm  self-assurance. 

Then  came  a  surprise  which  roused  the  whole  city. 
From  out  of  the  parish  prison  appeared  another  Italian, 
a  counterfeiter,  who  had  recently  been  arrested,  and  who 
proved  to  be  a  Pinkerton  detective  "planted"  among  the 
Mafiosi  for  a  purpose.  Larubio  had  been  a  counterfeiter 
in  Sicily — it  was  in  the  government  prison  that  he  had 
learned  his  cobbler's  trade;  and  out  of  the  fullness  of 
his  heart  he  had  talked — so  the  detective  swore — con 
cerning  these  foolish  Americans  who  sought  to  stay  the 
hand  of  La  Mafia.  Nor  had  he  been  the  only  one  to 
commit  himself.  Di  Marco,  Garcia,  and  the  other  two 
lieutenants  turned  livid  as  the  stool-pigeon  confronted 
them  with  their  own  words. 

On  the  heels  of  this  came  the  crowning  dramatic  mo 
ment  of  the  trial. 

Normando  broke  down  and  tried  to  confess  in  open 
court.  He  was  a  dull,  ignorant  man,  with  a  bestial  face 
and  a  coward's  eye.  This  unexpected  treachery,  his  own 
complete  identification,  had  put  an  intolerable  strain 
upon  him.  Without  warning,  he  rose  to  his  feet  in  the 
crowded  court-room  and  cried  loudly  in  his  own  tongue: 

" Madonna  mia!  I  do  not  want  to  die!  I  confess!  I 
confess!" 

Norvin  Blake,  who  had  been  watching  the  proceedings 
from  the  audience,  leaped  from  his  seat  as  if  electrified; 
other  spectators  followed,  for  even  among  those  who 
could  not  understand  the  fellow's  words  it  was  seen  that 
he  was  breaking.  Normando's  ghastly  pallor,  his  wet 
and  twitching  lips,  his  shaking  hands,  all  told  the  story. 

295 


THE    NET 

Confusion  followed.  Amid  the  hubbub  of  startled  voices, 
the  stir  of  feet,  the  interruption  of  counsel,  the  wretch  ran 
on,  repeating  his  fear  of  death  and  his  desire  to  confess, 
meanwhile  beating  his  breast  in  hysterical  frenzy. 

Of  all  the  Americans  present  perhaps  Norvin  alone 
understood  exactly  what  the  Sicilian  was  saying  and  why 
consternation  had  fallen  upon  the  other  prisoners.  Laru- 
bio  went  white;  a  blind  and  savage  fury  leaped  into  Ma- 
ruffi's  face;  the  other  nine  wilted  or  stiffened  according  to 
the  effect  fear  had  upon  them. 

A  death-like  hush  succeeded  the  first  outbreak,  and 
through  Normando's  gabble  came  the  judge's  voice  call 
ing  for  an  interpreter.  There  was  no  need  for  the  crier 
to  demand  silence;  every  ear  was  strained  for  the  dis 
closures  that  seemed  imminent. 

Blake  was  forcing  himself  forward  to  offer  his  services 
when  the  wretch's  wavering  eyes  caught  something  in 
the  audience  and  rested  there.  The  death  sign  of  the 
Brotherhood  was  flashed  at  him;  he  halted.  His  tongue 
ran  thickly  for  a  moment;  then  he  sank  into  his  chair, 
and,  burying  his  head  in  his  hands,  began  to  rock  from 
side  to  side,  sobbing  and  muttering.  Nor  would  he  say 
more,  even  when  a  recess  was  declared  and  he  was  taken 
into  the  judge's  chambers.  Thereafter  he  maintained 
a  sullen,  hopeless  silence  which  nothing  could  break,  glar 
ing  at  his  captors  with  the  defiance  of  a  beast  at  bay. 
But  the  episode  had  had  its  effect;  it  seemed  that  no 
one  could  now  doubt  the  guilt  of  the  prisoners. 

The  assurance  of  conviction  grew  as  it  was  proven  that 
Maruffi  himself  had  rented  Larubio's  shop  and  laid  the 
trap  for  Donnelly's  destruction.  Step  by  step  the  plot 
was  bared  in  all  its  hideous  detail.  The  blood  money  was 
traced  from  the  six  hirelings  up  through  the  four  superiors 
to  Cassar  himself.  Then  followed  the  effort  to  show  a 
motive  for  the  crime — not  a  difficult  task,  since  every  one 
knew  of  Donnelly's  work  against  the  Mafia.  Martini's 

296 


THE    TRIAL    AND   THE    VERDICT 

domination  of  the  Society  was  harder  to  bring  out;  but 
when  the  State  finally  rested  its  case,  even  Blake,  who  had 
been  dubious  from  the  start,  confessed  that  American 
law  and  American  courts  had  demonstrated  their 
efficiency. 

During  all  this  time  his  relations  with  Vittoria  remained 
unchanged.  She  and  Oliveta  eagerly  welcomed  his  re 
ports  of  the  trial;  but  she  never  permitted  him  to  see  her 
alone,  and  he  felt  that  she  was  deliberately  withdrawing 
from  him.  He  met  her  only  for  brief  interviews.  Of 
Myra  Nell,  meanwhile,  he  saw  nothing,  since,  with  char 
acteristic  abruptness,  she  had  decided  to  visit  some  for 
gotten  cousins  in  Mobile. 

Of  all  those  who  followed  the  famous  Mafia  trial,  detail 
by  detail,  perhaps  no  one  did  so  with  greater  fixity  of 
interest  than  Bernie  Dreux.  He  reveled  in  it,  he  talked 
of  nothing  else,  his  waking  hours  were  spent  in  the  court 
room,  his  dreams  were  peopled  with  Sicilian  figures.  He 
hung  upon  Norvin,  his  hero,  with  a  tenacity  that  was 
trying;  he  discussed  the  evidence  bit  by  bit;  he  ran  to 
him  with  every  rumor,  every  fresh  development.  As  the 
prosecution  made  its  case  his  triumph  became  fierce  and 
fearful  to  behold;  then  when  the  defense  began  its  crafty 
efforts  he  grew  furiously  indignant,  a  mighty  rage  shook 
him,  he  swelled  and  choked  with  resentment. 

"What  do  you  think?"  he  inquired,  one  day.  "They're 
proving  alibis,  one  by  one!  It's  infamous!" 

"It  will  take  considerable  Sicilian  testimony  to  offset 
the  effect  of  our  witnesses,"  Blake  told  him. 

But  Dreux  looked  upon  the  efforts  of  the  opposing 
lawyers  as  a  personal  affront,  and  so  declared  himself. 

"Why,  they're  trying  to  make  you  out  a  liar!  That's 
what  it  amounts  to.  The  law  never  intended  that  a 
gentleman's  word  should  be  disputed.  If  I  were  the 
judge  I'd  close  the  case  right  now  and  instruct  the  sheriff 
to  hang  all  the  prisoners,  including  their  attorneys." 

297 


THE    NET 

"They'll  never  be  acquitted." 

Bernie  shook  his  head  morosely. 

"There's  a  rumor  of  jury-fixing.  I  hear  one  of  the  tales 
men  was  approached  with  a  bribe  before  the  trial." 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  that." 

"I'll  bet  it's  true  just  the  same.  If  I'd  known  what 
they  were  up  to  I'd  have  got  on  the  jury  myself.  I'd 
have  taken  their  money,  then  I'd  have  fixed  'em!" 

"You'd  have  voted  for  eleven  hemp  neckties,  eh?" 

"I'd  have  hung  each  man  twice." 

Although  Blake  at  first  refused  to  credit  the  rumors  of 
corruption,  the  following  days  served  to  verify  them,  for 
more  than  one  juryman  confessed  to  receiving  offers. 
This  caused  a  sensation  which  grew  as  the  papers  took  up 
the  matter  and  commented  editorially.  A  leading  wit 
ness  for  the  State  finally  told  of  an  effort  to  intimidate  him, 
and  men  began  to  ask  if  this  was  destined  to  prove  as 
rotten  as  other  Mafia  cases  in  the  past.  A  feeling  of  un 
rest,  of  impatience,  began  to  manifest  itself,  vague  threats 
were  voiced,  but  the  idea  of  a  bribed  or  terrorized  jury 
was  so  preposterous  that  few  gave  credence  to  it.  Never 
theless,  the  closing  days  of  the  trial  were  weighted  heavily 
with  suspense.  Not  only  the  city,  but  the  country  at 
large,  hung  upon  the  outcome.  So  strongly  had  racial 
antipathy  figured  that  Italy  took  note  of  the  case,  and  it 
assumed  an  international  importance.  Biased  accounts 
were  cabled  abroad  which  led  to  an  uneasy  stir  in  min 
isterial  and  consular  quarters. 

During  the  exhaustive  arguments  at  the  close  of  the 
trial  Norvin  and  Bernie  sat  together.  When  the  opening 
attorneys  for  the  prosecution  had  finished,  Dreux  ex 
claimed,  triumphantly: 

"We've  got  'em!    They  can't  escape  after  that." 

But  when  the  defense  in  turn  had  closed,  the  little 
man  revealed  an  indignant  face  to  his  companion,  say 
ing: 

198 


THE    TRIAL    AND    THE    VERDICT 

"Lord!  They're  as  good  as  free!  We'll  never  convict 
on  evidence  like  that." 

Once  more  he  changed,  under  the  spell  of  the  masterly 
State's  attorney,  and  declared  with  fierce  exultance: 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  They'll  hang  every  mother's 
son  of  'em.  The  jury  won't  be  out  an  hour." 

The  jury  was  out  more  than  an  hour,  even  though  press 
and  public  declared  the  case  to  be  clear.  Yet,  knowing 
that  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  upon  her,  New  Orleans 
went  to  sleep  that  night  serene  in  the  certainty  that  she 
had  vindicated  herself,  had  upheld  her  laws,  and  proved 
her  ability  to  deal  with  that  organized  lawlessness  which 
had  so  long  been  a  blot  upon  her  fair  name. 

Soon  after  court  convened  on  the  following  morning  the 
jury  sent  word  that  they  had  reached  a  verdict,  and  the 
court-room  quickly  filled.  Rumors  of  Caesar  Maruffi's 
double  identity  had  gone  forth;  it  was  hinted  that  he 
was  none  other  than  the  dreaded  Belisario  Cardi,  that 
genius  of  a  thousand  crimes  who  had  held  all  Sicily  in 
fear.  This  report  supplied  the  last  touch  of  dramatic 
interest. 

Blake  and  Bernie  were  in  their  places  before  the  prison 
ers  arrived.  Every  face  in  the  room  was  tense  and  ex 
pectant;  even  the  calloused  attendants  felt  the  hush  and 
lowered  their  voices  in  deference.  Every  eye  was  strained 
toward  the  door  behind  which  the  jury  was  concealed. 
There  came  the  rumble  of  the  prison  van  below,  the  tramp 
of  feet  upon  the  hollow  stairs,  and  into  the  dingy,  high- 
ceilinged  hall  of  justice  filed  the  accused,  manacled  and 
doubly  guarded.  Maruffi  led,  his  black  head  held  high; 
Normando  brought  up  the  rear,  supported  by  two  officers. 
He  was  racked  with  terror,  his  body  hung  like  a  sack,  a 
moisture  of  foam  and  spittle  lay  upon  his  lips.  When  he 
reached  the  railing  of  the  prisoners'  box  he  clutched  it 
and  resisted  loosely,  sobbing  in  his  throat;  but  he  was 
thrust  forward  into  a  seat,  where  he  collapsed. 

299 


THE   NET 

The  judge  and  the  attorneys  were  in  their  places  when 
a  deputy  sheriff  swung  open  the  door  to  the  jury-room 
and  the  "twelve  good  men  and  true"  appeared.  As  if 
through  the  silence  of  a  tomb  they  went  to  their  stations 
while  eleven  pairs  of  black  Sicilian  eyes  searched  their 
downcast  features  for  a  sign.  Larubio,  the  cobbler,  was 
paper-white  above  his  smoky  beard;  Di  Marco's  swarthy 
face  was  green,  like  that  of  a  corpse;  his  companions  were 
frozen  in  various  attitudes  of  eager,  dreadful  waiting. 
The  only  sound  through  the  scuff  and  tramp  of  the  jurors' 
feet  was  Normando's  lunatic  murmuring.  As  for  the 
leader  of  the  band,  he  sat  as  if  graven  in  stone ;  but,  de 
spite  his  iron  control,  a  pallor  had  crept  up  beneath  his  skin. 

Blake  heard  Bernie  whisper: 

"Look!    They  know  they're  lost." 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have  you  agreed  upon  a  ver 
dict?"  came  the  voice  of  the  judge. 

The  foreman  rose.     "We  have." 

He  passed  a  document  up  to  the  bench,  and  silently  the 
court  examined  it. 

The  seconds  were  now  creeping  minutes.  Normando's 
ceaseless  mumbling  was  like  that  of  a  man  distraught  by 
torture.  A  hand  was  used  to  silence  him.  The  spectators 
were  upon  their  feet  and  bent  forward  in  attention;  the 
cordon  of  officers  closed  in  behind  the  accused  as  if  to 
throttle  any  act  of  desperation. 

The  judge  passed  the  verdict  down  to  the  minute  clerk, 
who  read  in  a  clear,  distinct,  monotonous  tone: 

"Celso  Fabbri,  Frank  Normando,  mistrial.  Salvatore 
di  Marco,  Frank  Garcia,  Giordano  Bolla" — the  list  of 
names  seemed  interminable — "Gaspardo  Cressi,  Lorenzo 
Cardoni,  Caesar  Maruffi" — he  paused  for  an  instant  while 
time  halted — "not  guilty." 

After  the  first  moment  of  stunned  stupefaction  a  mur 
mur  of  angry  disapproval  ran  through  the  crowd;  it  was 
not  loud,  but  hushed,  as  if  men  doubted  their  senses  and 

300 


THE  TRIAL  AND  THE  VERDICT 

were  seeking  corroboration  of  their  ears.  From  the  street 
below,  as  the  judgment  was  flashed  to  the  waiting  hun 
dreds,  came  an  echo,  faint,  unformed,  like  the  first  vague 
stir  that  runs  ahead  of  a  tempest. 

The  shock  of  Norvin  Blake's  amazement  in  part  blurred 
his  memory  of  that  dramatic  tableau,  but  certain  details 
stood  out  clearly  afterwards.  For  one  thing  he  heard 
Bernie  Dreux  giggling  like  an  overwrought  woman,  while 
through  his  hysteria  ran  a  stream  of  shocking  curses.  He 
saw  one  of  the  jurors  rise,  yawn,  and  stretch  himself,  then 
rub  his  bullet  head,  smiling  meanwhile  at  the  Cressi  boy. 
He  saw  Caesar  Maruffi  turn  full  to  the  room  behind  him 
and  search  for  his  own  face.  When  their  eyes  met,  a  light 
of  devilish  amusement  lit  the  Sicilian's  visage;  his  lips 
parted  and  his  white  teeth  gleamed,  but  it  was  no  smile, 
rather  the  nervous,  rippling  twitch  that  bares  a  wolf's 
fangs.  His  color  had  come  flooding  back,  too;  victory 
suffused  him  with  a  ruddy,  purple  congestion,  almost 
apoplectic.  Then  heads  came  between  them;  friends  of 
the  prisoners  crowded  forward  with  noisy  congratulations 
and  outstretched  palms;  the  rival  attorneys  were  shaking 
hands. 

Blake  found  himself  borne  along  by  the  eddying  stream 
which  set  out  of  the  court-room  and  down  into  the  sun 
lit  street,  where  the  curbs  were  lined  with  uplifted  faces. 
Dreux  was  close  beside  him,  quite  silent  now.  A  similar 
silence  brooded  over  the  whole  procession  which  emerged 
from  the  building  like  a  funeral  cortege.  When  the  mo 
ments  brought  home  the  truth  to  its  members  they  felt, 
indeed,  as  if  they  came  from  a  house  of  death,  for  they 
had  seen  Justice  murdered,  and  the  chill  was  in  their  hearts. 

But  there  was  something  sinister  in  the  hush  which 
gagged  that  multitude. 

Many  readers  will  doubtless  recall,  even  now,  the  shock 
that  went  through  this  country  at  the  conclusion  of  the 

301 


THE    NET 

famous  New  Orleans  Mafia  trial  of  twenty  years  ago. 
They  will,  perhaps,  remember  a  general  feeling  of  surprise 
that  an  American  jury  would  dare,  in  the  face  of  such 
popular  feeling  and  such  apparently  overwhelming  evi 
dence,  to  render  a  verdict  of  "not  guilty."  In  some 
quarters  the  farcical  outcome  of  the  trial  was  blamed 
upon  Louisiana's  peculiar  legal  code.  But  the  truth  is 
our  Northern  cities  had  not  at  that  time  felt  the  power  of 
organized  crime.  New  York,  for  instance,  had  not  been 
shaken  by  an  interminable  succession  of  dynamite  out 
rages  nor  terrorized  by  bands  of  Latin-born  Apaches  who 
live  by  violence  and  blackmail ;  therefore,  the  tremendous 
difficulty  of  securing  convictions  was  not  appreciated  as 
it  is  to-day. 

There  was  a  universal  suspicion  that  the  last  word 
concerning  the  New  Orleans  affair  had  not  been  written, 
so  what  followed  was  not  entirely  a  surprise. 


XXIV 

AT  THE   FEET   OF   THE    STATUE 

Two  hours  after  the  verdict  there  was  a  meeting  of  the 
Committee  of  Justice,  and  that  night  the  evening  papers 
carried  the  following  notice: 

"MASS-MEETING" 

"All  good  citizens  are  invited  to  attend  a  mass-meeting 
to-morrow  morning  at  10  o'clock  at  Clay  Statue,  to  take 
steps  to  remedy  the  failure  of  justice  in  the  Donnelly 
case.  Come  prepared  for  action." 

It  was  signed  by  the  fifty  well-known  men  who  had 
been  appointed  to  represent  the  people.  That  incredible 
verdict  had  caused  a  great  excitement;  but  this  bold  and 
threatening  appeal  brought  the  city  up  standing.  It 
caused  men  who  had  been  loudly  cursing  the  jury  to  halt 
and  measure  the  true  depth  of  their  indignation.  There 
was  no  other  topic  of  conversation  that  night;  and  when 
the  same  call  appeared  in  the  morning  papers,  together 
with  a  ringing  column  headed, 

"AWAKE!    ARISE!" 

it  stirred  a  swift  and  mighty  public  sentiment.  Never, 
perhaps,  in  any  public  press  had  so  sanguinary  an  appeal 
been  issued. 

"Citizens  of  New  Orleans,"  it  read  in  part,  "when  mur 
der  overrides  law  and  justice,  when  juries  are  bribed  and 

303 


THE    NET 

suborners  go  unwhipped,  it  is  time  to  resort  to  your  own 
indefeasible  right  of  self-preservation.  Alien  bands  of 
oath-bound  assassins  have  set  the  blot  of  a  martyr's  blood 
upon  your  civilization.  Your  laws,  in  the  very  Temple 
of  Justice,  have  been  bought,  suborners  have  loosed  upon 
your  streets  the  midnight  murderers  of  an  officer  in 
whose  grave  lies  the  majesty  of  American  law. 

"Rise  in  your  might,  people  of  New  Orleans!     Rise!" 

A  similar  note  was  struck  by  editorials,  many  of  them 
couched  in  language  even  stronger  and  more  suited  to 
fan  the  public  rage.  The  recent  trial  was  called  an  out 
rageous  travesty  on  justice;  attention  was  directed  to  the 
damnable  vagaries  of  recent  juries  which  had  been  im 
paneled  to  try  red-handed  Italian  murderers. 

"Our  city  is  become  the  haven  of  blackmailers  and 
assassins,  the  safe  vantage-ground  for  Sicilian  stilletto 
bands  who  slay  our  legal  officers,  who  buy  jurors,  and 
corrupt  sworn  witnesses  under  the  hooded  eyes  of  Justice. 
How  much  longer  will  this  outrage  be  permitted?"  So 
read  a  heavily  typed  article  in  the  leading  journal. 

A  wave  of  fierce  determination  ran  through  the  whole 
community. 

Margherita  Ginini  was  waiting  at  Blake's  place  of 
business  when  he  arrived,  after  a  night  of  sleepless  worry. 
She,  too,  showed  evidence  of  a  painful  vigil ;  her  hand  was 
shaking  as  she  held  out  a  copy  of  the  morning  paper, 
inquiring : 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?" 

"It  means  we're  no  longer  in  Sicily,"  he  said. 

"You  intend  to — kill  those  men?" 

"I  fear  something  like  that  may  occur.  The  question 
will  be  put  up  to  the  people,  plainly." 

She  clutched  the  edge  of  his  desk,  staring  at  him  with 
wide,  tragic  eyes. 

"Your  name  heads  the  list.     Did — you  do  this?" 

"I  am  the  chairman  of  that  committee.  I  did  my  part." 

304 


AT   THE    FEET   OF   THE     STATUE 

"But  the  law  declares  them  innocent,"  she  gasped — 
"all  but  two,  and  they  can  be  tried  over  again." 

"The  law!"  He  smiled  bitterly.  "Do  you  believe 
that?" 

"I  believe  they  are  guilty — who  can  doubt  it?  But 
this  lawlessness — this  mad  cry  for  revenge — it  is  against 
all  my  beliefs,  my  religion.  Oh,  my  friend,  can't  you 
stop  it?  At  least  take  no  part  in  it — for  my  sake." 

His  look  was  hard,  yet  regretful. 

"For  your  sake  I  would  give  my  life  gladly,"  he  said, 
"but  there  are  times  when  one  must  act  his  destined  part. 
That  verdict  holds  me  up  to  the  public  as  a  perjurer; 
but  that  is  a  small  matter.  Oh,  I  have  had  my  scruples; 
I  have  questioned  my  conscience,  and  deep  in  my  heart 
I  see  that  there  is  only  one  way.  I'd  be  a  hypocrite  if  I 
denied  it.  I'm  wrong,  perhaps,  but  I  can't  be  untrue  to 
mybelf." 

"We  know  but  a  part  of  the  truth,"  she  urged,  desper 
ately.  "God  alone  knows  it  all.  You  saw  three  men — 
there  are  others  whom  you  did  not  see." 

"They  were  seen  by  other  eyes  quite  as  trustworthy 
as  mine." 

She  wrung  her  hands  miserably,  crying: 

"But  wait!  Guilty  or  innocent,  they  have  appeared 
in  judgment,  and  the  law  has  acquitted  them.  You  urge 
upon  the  people  now  a  crime  greater  than  theirs.  Two 
wrongs  do  not  make  a  right.  Who  are  you  to  raise  your 
self  above  that  power  which  is  supreme?" 

"There's  a  law  higher  than  the  courts." 

"Yes,  one;  the  law  of  God.  If  our  means  have  failed, 
leave  their  punishment  to  Him." 

He  shook  his  head,  no  trace  of  yielding  in  his  eyes. 

"One  man  was  killed,  and  yet  you  contemplate  the 
death  of  eleven!" 

"Listen,"  he  cried,  "this  cause  belongs  to  the  people 
who  have  seen  their  sacred  institutions  debauched.  If 
20  305 


THE   NET 

I  had  the  power  to  sway  the  citizens  of  New  Orleans  from 
the  course  which  I  believe  they  contemplate,  I  doubt  that 
I  could  bring  myself  to  exercise  it,  for  it  is  plain  that  the 
Mafia  must  be  exterminated.  The  good  of  the  city,  the 
safety  of  all  of  us,  demands  it."  He  regarded  her  curi 
ously.  "Do  you  realize  what  Marufii's  freedom  would 
mean  to  you  and  Oliveta?" 

"We  are  in  God's  hands." 

"It  would  require  a  miracle  to  save  you.  Cassar  would 
have  my  life,  too;  he  told  me  as  much  with  his  eyes 
when  that  corrupted  jury  lifted  the  fear  of  death  from  his 
heart." 

"So!"  cried  the  girl.  "You  fear  him,  therefore  you 
take  this  means  of  destroying  him !  You  goad  the  public 
and  your  friends  into  a  red  rage  and  send  them  to  murder 
your  enemy." 

Her  hysteria  was  not  proof  against  the  look  which 
leaped  into  his  eyes — the  pallor  that  left  him  facing  her 
with  the  visage  of  a  sick  man. 

"During  the  last  five  years,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I've 
often  tried  to  be  a  man,  but  never  until  last  night  have  I 
succeeded  fully.  When  I  signed  that  call  to  arms  I  felt 
that  I  was  writing  Maruffi's  death-warrant.  I  hesitated 
for  a  time,  then  I  put  aside  all  thoughts  of  myself,  and 
now  I'm  prepared  to  meet  this  accusation.  I  knew  it 
would  come.  The  world — my  world — knows  that  Marufii's 
life  or  mine  hinges  on  his  liberty;  if  he  dies  by  the  mob 
to-day,  that  world  will  call  me  coward  for  my  act;  it 
will  say  that  I  roused  the  passions  of  the  populace  to  save 
myself.  Nevertheless,  I  was  chosen  leader  of  that  com 
mittee,  and  I  did  their  will — as  I  shall  do  the  will  of  the 
people." 

"The  will  of  the  people!  You  know  very  well  that  the 
people  have  no  will.  They  do  what  their  leaders  tell  them. ' ' 

"My  name  is  written.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  do  as 
you  wish." 

306 


AT    THE    FEET    OF    THE    STATUE 

"But  surely  you  do  not  deceive  yourself,"  she  insisted. 
"This  is  wrong,  oh,  so  inconceivably,  so  terribly  wrong! 
You  do  not  possess  the  divine  power  to  bestow  life.  How 
then  can  you  dare  to  take  it?  By  what  possible  au 
thority  do  you  decree  the  destruction  of  your  fellow-men 
whom  the  law  has  adjudged  innocent?" 

"By  the  sovereign  authority  of  the  public  good.  By 
the  inherited  right  of  self -protection." 

"You  would  shoot  them  down,  like  caged  animals?" 

"Those  eleven  individuals  have  ceased  to  exist  as  men. 
They  represent  an  infection,  a  diseased  spot  which  must 
be  cut  out.  They  stand  for  disorder  and  violence;  to 
free  them  would  be  a  crime,  to  give  them  arms  to  de 
fend  themselves  would  be  merely  to  increase  their 
evil." 

"There  is  a  child  among  them,  too;  would  you  have  his 
death  upon  your  conscience?" 

"I  told  Gino  he  should  come  to  no  harm,  and,  God 
willing,  he  sha'n't." 

"How  can  you  hope  to  stem  the  rage  of  a  thousand 
madmen?  A  mob  will  stop  at  no  half  measures.  There 
are  two  men  among  the  prisoners  who  are  entitled  to  an 
other  trial.  Do  you  think  the  people  will  spare  them  if 
they  take  the  others?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  doubt 
fully,  and  she  shuddered.  "You  shall  not  have  the  death 
of  those  defenseless  men  upon  your  soul!"  she  cried. 
"Your  hands  at  least  shall  remain  clean." 

"Please  don't  urge  me,"  he  said. 

"But  I  do.  I  ask  you  to  take  no  part  in  this  barbar 
ous  uprising." 

"And  I  must  refuse  you." 

She  looked  at  him  wildly;  her  face  was  ashen  as  she 
continued : 

"You  have  said  that  you  love  me.  Can't  you  make 
this  sacrifice  for  me?  Can't  you  make  this  concession 
to  my  fears,  my  conscience,  my  beliefs?  I  am  only  a 

307 


THE   NET 

woman,  and  I  cannot  face  this  grim  and  awful  thing.  I 
cannot  think  of  your  part  in  it." 

The  look  she  gave  him  went  to  his  heart. 

" Margherita !"  he  cried,  in  torture;  "don't  you  see  I 
have  no  choice?  I  couldn't  yield,  even  if  the  price  were 
— you  and  your  love.  You  wouldn't  rob  me  of  my  man 
hood?" 

"I  could  never  touch  hands  which  were  stained  with 
the  blood  of  defenseless  men — not  even  in  friendship,  you 
— understand?" 

"I  understand!"  For  a  second  time  the  color  left  his 
face. 

Her  glance  wavered  again,  she  swayed,  then  groped  for 
the  door,  while  he  stood  like  stone  in  his  tracks. 

"Good-by!"  he  said,  lifelessly. 

"Good-by!"  she  answered,  in  the  same  tone.  "I 
have  done  my  part.  You  are  a  man,  and  you  must  do 
yours  as  you  see  it.  But  may  God  save  you  from  blood 
shed." 

Long  before  the  hour  set  for  the  gathering  at  Clay 
Statue  the  streets  in  that  vicinity  began  to  fill.  Men  con 
tinued  on  past  their  places  of  business;  shops  and  offices 
remained  closed;  the  wide  strip  of  neutral  ground  which 
divided  the  two  sides  of  the  city's  leading  thoroughfare 
began  to  pack.  Around  the  base  of  the  monument  groups 
of  citizens  congregated  until  the  cars  were  forced  to  slow 
down  and  proceed  with  a  clangor  of  gongs  which  served 
only  as  a  tocsin  to  draw  more  recruits.  Vehicles  came  to 
a  halt,  were  wedged  close  to  the  curbs,  and  became  coigns 
of  vantage;  office  windows,  store-fronts,  balconies,  and 
roof-tops  began  to  cluster  with  a  human  freight. 

After  a  week  of  wind  and  rain  the  sun  had  risen  in  a 
sky  that  was  cloudless,  save  for  a  few  thin  streaks  of  shin 
ing  silver  which  resembled  long  polished  rapiers  or  the 
gleaming  spear-points  of  a  host  still  hidden  below  the 

308 


AT   THE    FEET    OF    THE   STATUE 

horizon.  The  fragrance  of  shrubs  and  flowers,  long  dor 
mant,  weighted  the  breeze.  It  was  a  glorious  morning, 
fit  for  love  and  laughter  and  little  children. 

Nor  did  the  rapidly  swelling  assemblage  resemble  in 
any  measure  a  mob  bent  upon  violence.  It  was  composed 
mainly  of  law-abiding  business  men  who  greeted  each 
other  genially;  in  their  grave,  intelligent  faces  was  no 
hint  of  savagery  or  brutality.  All  traffic  finally  ceased, 
the  entire  neighborhood  was  massed  and  clotted  with 
waiting  humanity;  then,  as  the  hour  struck,  a  running 
salvo  of  applause  came  from  the  galleries  and  a  cheer 
from  the  street  when  a  handful  of  men  was  seen  crowding 
its  way  up  to  the  base  of  the  statue.  It  was  composed  of 
a  half-dozen  prominent  men  who  had  been  identified  with 
the  Committee  of  Justice;  among  them  was  Norvin  Blake. 
A  hush  followed  as  one  of  them  mounted  the  pedestal  and 
began  to  speak.  He  was  recognized  as  Judge  Blackmar, 
a  wealthy  lawyer,  and  his  well-trained  voice  filled  the  wide 
spaces  from  wall  to  wall;  it  went  out  over  the  sea  of 
heads  and  up  to  the  crowded  roof-tops. 

He  told  of  the  reasons  which  had  inspired  this  indigna 
tion  meeting;  he  recounted  the  history  of  the  Mafia  in 
New  Orleans,  and  recalled  its  many  outrages  culminating 
in  the  assassination  of  Chief  Donnelly. 

"Affairs  have  reached  such  a  crisis,"  said  he,  "that  we 
who  live  in  an  organized  and  civilized  community  find 
our  laws  ineffective  and  are  forced  to  protect  ourselves 
as  best  we  may.  When  courts  fail,  the  people  must  act. 
What  protection  is  left  us,  when  our  highest  police 
official  is  slain  in  our  very  midst  by  the  Mafia  and  his 
assassins  turned  loose  upon  us?  This  is  not  the  first  case 
of  wilful  murder  and  supine  justice ;  our  court  records  are 
full  of  similar  ones.  The  time  has  come  to  say  whether 
we  shall  tolerate  these  outrages  further  or  whether  we 
shall  set  aside  the  verdict  of  an  infamous  and  perjured 
jury  and  cleanse  our  city  of  the  ghouls  which  prey  upon 

309 


THE    NET 

it.  I  ask  you  to  consider  this  question  fairly.  You  have 
been  assembled,  not  behind  closed  doors,  nor  under  the 
cloak  of  darkness,  but  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  in  the  broad 
light  of  day,  to  take  such  action  as  honest  men  must  take 
to  save  their  homes  against  a  public  enemy.  What  is 
your  answer?" 

A  roar  broke  from  all  sides;  an  incoherent,  wordless 
growling  rumbled  down  the  street.  Those  on  the  out 
skirts  of  the  assemblage  who  had  come  merely  from  curi 
osity,  or  in  doubt  that  anything  would  be  accomplished, 
began  to  press  closer. 

A  restless  murmur,  broken  by  the  cries  of  excitable 
men,  arose  when  the  second  speaker  took  his  place. 
Then  as  he  spoke  the  temper  of  the  people  began  to  mani 
fest  itself  undeniably.  The  crowd  swayed  and  cheered; 
certain  demands  were  voiced  insistently;  a  wave  of  in 
tense  excitement  swept  it  as  it  heard  its  desires  so  boldly 
proclaimed.  As  the  heaving  sea  is  lashed  to  fury  by  the 
wind,  the  people's  rage  mounted  higher  with  every  sen 
tence  of  the  orator;  every  pause  was  greeted  with  howls. 
Men  stared  into  the  faces  around  them,  and,  seeing  their 
own  emotions  mirrored,  they  were  swept  by  an  ever- 
increasing  agitation.  There  was  a  general  impulse  to 
advance  at  once  upon  the  parish  prison,  and  knots  of 
stragglers  were  already  making  in  that  direction,  while 
down  from  the  telegraph-poles,  from  roofs  and  shed-tops 
men  were  descending.  All  that  seemed  lacking  for  a  con 
certed  movement  was  a  leader,  a  bold  figure,  a  ringing 
voice  to  set  this  army  in  motion. 

Blake  had  been  selected  to  make  the  third  address  and  to 
put  the  issue  squarely  up  to  the  people;  but,  as  he  wedged 
his  way  forward  to  enact  his  r61e,  up  to  the  feet  of  the 
statue  squirmed  and  wriggled  a  figure  which  assumed  the 
place  just  vacated  by  the  second  speaker. 

It  was  Bernie  Dreux,  but  a  different  Bernie  from  the 
man  his  amazed  friends  in  the  crowd  thought  they  knew. 

310 


AT   THE    FEET   OF    THE   STATUE 

He  was  pale,  and  his  limbs  shook  under  him,  but  his  eyes 
blazed  with  a  fire  which  brought  a  hush  of  attention  to 
all  within  sight  of  him.  Up  there  against  the  heroic 
figure  of  Henry  Clay  he  looked  more  diminutive,  more 
insignificant  than  ever;  but  oddly  enough  he  had  attained 
a  sudden  dignity  which  made  him  seem  intensely  master 
ful  and  alive.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  erect  and  mo 
tionless,  surveying  that  restless  multitude  which  rocked 
and  rumbled  for  the  distance  of  a  full  city  square  in  both 
directions ;  then  he  began.  His  voice,  though  high-pitched 
from  emotion,  was  as  clear  and  ringing  as  a  trumpet;  it 
pierced  to  the  farthest  limits  of  the  giant  audience  and 
stirred  it  like  a  battle  signal.  The  blood  of  his  fore 
fathers  had  awakened  at  last;  and  old  General  Dreux,  the 
man  of  iron  and  fire  and  passion,  was  speaking  through 
his  son. 

"People  of  New  Orleans,"  he  cried,  "I  desire  neither 
fame  nor  name  nor  glory;  I  am  here  not  as  one  of  the 
Committee  of  Public  Safety,  but  as  a  plain  citizen.  Let 
me  therefore  speak  for  you;  let  mine  be  the  lips  which 
give  your  answer.  Fifty  of  our  trusted  townsmen  were 
appointed  to  assist  in  bringing  the  murderers  of  Chief 
Donnelly  to  justice.  They  told  us  to  wait  upon  the  law. 
We  waited,  and  the  law  failed.  Our  court  and  our  jury 
were  debauched;  our  Committee  comes  back  to  us  now, 
the  source  from  which  it  took  its  power,  and  acknowledges 
that  it  can  do  no  more.  It  lays  the  matter  in  our  hands 
and  asks  for  our  decision.  Let  me  deliver  the  message: 
Justice  must  be  done!  Dan  Donnelly  must  be  avenged 
to-day!" 

The  clamor  which  had  greeted  the  words  of  the  previous 
speakers  was  as  nothing  to  the  titanic  bellow  which  burst 
forth  acclaiming  Dreux's. 

"This  is  the  hour  for  action,  not  for  talk,"  he  continued, 
when  he  had  stilled  them.  "The  Anglo-Saxon  is  slow  to 
anger,  and  because  of  that  the  Mafia  has  thrived  among 


THE   NET 

us;  but  once  he  is  aroused,  once  his  rights  are  invaded 
and  his  laws  assailed,  his  rage  is  a  thing  to  reckon  with. 
Our  Committee  asks  us  if  we  are  ready  to  take  justice 
into  our  own  hands,  and  I  answer,  Yes!" 

A  chaos  of  waving  arms  and  of  high-flung  hats,  a  deaf 
ening  crash  of  voices  again  answered. 

"Then  our  speakers  shall  lead  us.  Judge  Blackmar 
shall  be  the  first  in  command;  Mr.  Slade,  who  spoke  after 
him,  shall  be  second,  and  I  shall  be  the  third  in  authority. 
Arm  yourselves  quickly,  gentlemen,  and  may  God  have 
mercy  upon  the  souls  of  those  eleven  murderers." 

He  leaped  lightly  down,  and  the  great  assemblage 
burst  into  motion,  streaming  out  Canal  Street  like  a 
storming  army.  It  boiled  into  side  streets  and  through 
every  avenue  which  led  in  the  direction  of  the  prison. 
At  each  corner  it  gathered  strength;  every  thoroughfare 
belched  forth  reinforcements;  hundreds  who  had  enter 
tained  no  faintest  notion  of  taking  part  fell  in,  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  seething  tide,  and  went  shouting  to 
the  very  gates  of  the  jail. 

Once  that  tossing  river  of  humanity  had  been  given 
force  and  direction  its  character  changed;  it  became  a 
mailed  dragon,  it  suddenly  blossomed  with  steel.  Peace 
ful,  middle-aged  men  who  had  stood  beside  the  monu 
ment  buttoned  up  in  peculiarly  bulky  overcoats  were 
now  marching  silently  with  weapons  at  their  shoulders. 

Strangest  of  all,  perhaps,  was  the  greeting  this  army 
received  on  every  side.  The  flotsam  and  jetsam  which 
swirled  along  in  its  eddies  or  followed  in  its  wake  cheered, 
howled,  and  danced  deliriously;  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  from  doorways  and  galleries  raised  their  voices 
lustily,  and  applauded  as  if  at  some  favorite  carnival 
parade.  In  notable  contrast  was  the  bearing  of  the  armed 
men  themselves;  they  marched  through  the  echoing 
streets  like  a  regiment  of  mutes. 


XXV 

THE   APPEAL 

ON  the  iron  balcony  of  a  house  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
parish  prison  the  two  Sicilian  girls  were  standing.  Across 
from  them  loomed  the  great  decaying  structure  with  its 
little  iron-barred  windows  and  its  steel-ribbed  doors  be 
hind  which  lay  their  countrymen.  From  inside  came  the 
echo  of  a  great  hammering,  as  if  a  gallows  were  being 
erected;  but  the  square  and  the  streets  outside  were 
quiet. 

"What  time  is  it  now?"  Oliveta  had  repeated  this 
question  already  a  dozen  times. 

"It  is  after  ten." 

"I  hear  nothing  as  yet,  do  you?" 

"Nothing!" 

"We  could  hear  if  it  were  not  for  that  dreadful  pound 
ing  yonder  in  the  jail." 

"Hush!     They  are  building  barricades." 

The  peasant  girl  gasped  and  seized  the  iron  railing  in 
front  of  her. 

"Madonna  mia!  I  am  dying.  Do  you  think  Signore 
Blake  will  yield  to  your  appeal  and  turn  the  mob?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Vittoria,  faintly. 

"He  can  do  more  than  any  other,  for  he  is  powerful; 
they  will  listen  to  him.  If  Caesar  should  escape!  I  am 
shamed  through  and  through  to  have  loved  such  a  man, 
and  yet  to  have  him  killed  like  a  rat  in  a  hole!  I  pray, 
and  I  know  not  what  I  pray  for — my  thoughts  are  whirl 
ing  so.  Do  you  hear  anything  from  the  city?" 


THE    NET 

"No,  no!" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"Those  barricades  will  not  allow  them  to  enter,  even 
if  our  friend  does  not  persuade  them  to  disperse." 

"I  have  heard  there  is  sometimes  shooting."  Vit- 
toria  shuddered.  "It  is  terrible  for  men  to  become 
brutes." 

"The  time  is  growing  late,"  Oliveta  quavered. 

There  was  another  period  of  silence  while  they  strained 
their  ears  for  the  faintest  sound,  but  the  fresh  breeze 
wafted  nothing  to  them.  On  a  neighboring  gallery  two 
housewives  were  gossiping;  a  child  was  playing  on  the 
walk  beneath,  and  his  piping  laughter  sounded  strangely 
incongruous.  From  across  the  way  rose  that  desultory 
pounding  as  spikes  were  driven  home  and  beams  were 
nailed  in  place.  Through  a  grated  aperture  in  the  prison 
wall  an  armed  man  peered  down  the  street. 

"Caesar  is  cunning,"  Oliveta  broke  out.  "He  is  not 
one  to  be  easily  caught.  He  is  brave,  too.  Ah,  God!  how 
I  loved  him  and  how  I  have  hated  him!"  Ever  since 
Maruffi's  capture  she  had  remained  in  a  frame  of  mind 
scarcely  rational,  fluctuating  between  a  silent,  sullen 
mood  of  revenge  and  a  sense  of  horror  at  her  betrayal 
of  the  man  who  had  once  possessed  her  whole  heart. 

"It  can't  be  that  you  still  care  for  him?" 

"No,  I  loathe  him,  and  if  he  escapes  he  would  surely 
kill  me.  Yet  sometimes  I  wish  it."  She  began  mum 
bling  to  herself.  "Look!"  she  cried,  suddenly.  "What 
is  this?" 

A  public  hack  came  swinging  into  view,  its  horses  at  a 
gallop.  It  drew  up  before  the  main  gate  of  the  prison, 
a  man  leaped  forth  and  began  pounding  for  admittance. 
Some  one  spoke  to  him  through  a  grating. 

"What  does  he  say?"  queried  the  peasant  girl. 

"I  cannot  hear.-  Perhaps  he  comes  to  say  there  is 
no —  Mother  of  God!  Listen!" 


THE    APPEAL 

From  somewhere  toward  the  heart  of  the  city  came  a 
faint  murmur. 

"  It  is  the  rumble  of  a  wagon  on  the  next  street,"  gasped 
Oliveta. 

The  sound  died  away.  The  girls  stood  frozen  at  atten 
tion  with  their  senses  strained.  Then  it  rose  again, 
louder.  Soon  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  A  whisper  came 
upon  the  breeze,  it  mounted  into  a  long-drawn  humming, 
which  in  turn  grew  to  a  steady  drone  of  voices  broken  by 
waves  of  cheering.  It  gathered  volume  rapidly,  and 
straggling  figures  came  running  into  view,  followed  by 
knots  and  groups  of  fleet-footed  youths.  The  driver  of 
the  carriage  rose  on  his  box,  looked  over  his  shoulder,  then 
whipped  his  horses  into  a  gallop  and  fled.  As  he  did  so 
a  slowly  moving  wagon  laden  with  timbers  turned  in 
from  a  side  street.  It  was  driven  by  a  somnolent  negro, 
who  finally  halted  his  team  and  stared  in  dull  lack  of  com 
prehension  at  what  he  saw  approaching. 

By  now  the  street  beneath  the  girls  was  half  filled  with 
people ;  it  echoed  to  a  babble  of  voices,  to  the  shuffle  and 
tread  of  a  coming  multitude,  and  an  instant  later  out  of 
every  thoroughfare  which  fronted  upon  the  grim  old 
prison  structure  streamed  the  people  of  New  Orleans. 

"See!  They  are  unarmed!"  Oliveta's  fingers  sank 
into  her  sister's  wrist. 

Then  through  the  press  came  a  body  of  silent  men, 
four  abreast  and  shoulder  to  shoulder.  The  crowd  opened 
to  let  them  through,  cheering  frenziedly.  They  wore  an 
air  of  sober  responsibility;  they  carried  guns,  and  looked 
to  neither  right  nor  left.  Directly  beneath  the  waiting 
women  they  passed,  and  at  their  head  marched  Norvin 
Blake  and  Bernie  Dreux  together  with  two  men  unknown 
to  the  girls. 

Vittoria  leaned  forward  horror-stricken,  and  although 
she  tried  to  call  she  did  not  hear  her  voice  above  the 
confusion;  Oliveta  clutched  her,  murmuring  distractedly. 


THE    NET 

The  avenues  were  jammed  from  curb  to  curb;  telegraph- 
poles,  lamp-posts,  trees  held  a  burden  of  human  forms; 
windows  and  house-tops  were  filling  in  every  direction; 
a  continuous  roar  beat  thunderously  against  the  prison 
walls. 

The  army  of  vigilantes  drew  up  before  the  main  gate,  and 
a  man  smote  it  with  the  butt  of  his  shotgun,  demanding 
entrance.  The  crowd,  anticipating  a  volley  from  within, 
surged  back,  leaving  them  isolated.  A  dozen  bluecoats 
struggled  to  clear  the  sidewalks  next  the  structure,  but 
they  might  as  well  have  tried  to  stem  a  rising  tide  with 
their  naked  hands;  they  were  buffeted  briefly,  then 
swallowed  up. 

In  answer  to  a  command,  the  armed  men  scattered, 
surrounding  the  building  with  a  cordon  of  steel;  then  the 
main  body  renewed  its  assault.  But  the  oaken  barrier, 
stoutly  reinforced,  withstood  them  gallantly,  and  a  brief 
colloquy  occurred,  after  which  they  made  their  way  to  a 
small  side  door  which  directly  faced  the  two  women 
across  the  street.  This  was  not  so  heavily  constructed 
as  the  front  gate  and  promised  an  easier  entrance;  but 
it  was  likewise  locked  and  barred.  Then  some  one  spied 
the  wagon  and  its  load  of  timbers,  now  hopelessly  wedged 
into  the  press,  and  a  rush  was  made  toward  it.  A  beam 
was  raised  upon  willing  shoulders,  and  with  this  as  a 
battering-ram  a  breach  was  begun. 

Every  crash  was  the  signal  for  a  shout  from  the  multi 
tude,  and  when  the  door  finally  gave  way  a  triumphant 
roar  arose.  The  armed  men  swarmed  into  the  opening 
and  disappeared  one  by  one,  all  but  two  who  stood  with 
backs  to  the  door  and  faced  the  crowd  warningly.  It 
was  evident  that  some  sort  of  order  prevailed  among  them, 
and  that  this  was  more  than  an  unorganized  assault. 

Through  the  close -packed  ranks,  on  and  on  around 
the  massive  pile,  ran  the  word  that  the  vigilantes  were 
within;  it  was  telegraphed  from  house-top  to  house-top. 

316 


'THE    APPEAL 

Then  a  silence  descended,  the  more  sinister  and  ominous 
because  of  the  pandemonium  which  had  preceded  it. 

Thus  far  Vittoria  and  her  companion  had  seen  and  heard 
all  that  occurred,  for  their  position  commanded  a  view  of 
both  fronts  of  the  building;  but  now  they  had  only  their 
ears  to  guide  them. 

"Come,  let  us  leave  now!  We  have  seen  enough." 
Vittoria  cried,  and  strove  to  drag  Oliveta  from  her  post. 
But  the  girl  would  not  yield,  she  did  not  seem  to  hear, 
her  eyes  were  fixed  with  strained  and  fascinated  horror 
upon  that  shattered  aperture  which  showed  like  a  gaping 
wound.  Her  bloodless  lips  were  whispering;  her  fingers, 
where  they  gripped  the  iron  railing,  were  like  claws. 

"Quickly!  Quickly!"  moaned  Vittoria.  "We  did  not 
come  to  see  this  monstrous  thing.  Oliveta,  spare  your 
self!"  In  the  silence  her  voice  sounded  so  loudly  and 
shrilly  that  people  on  the  adjoining  balcony  turned 
curious,  uncomprehending  faces  toward  her. 

Moment  after  moment  that  hush  continued,  then  from 
within  came  a  renewed  hammering,  hollow,  measured; 
above  it  sounded  the  faint  cries  of  terrified  prisoners. 
This  died  away  after  a  time,  and  some  one  said: 

"They're  into  the  corridors  at  last.  It  won't  be  long 
now." 

A  moment  later  a  dull,  unmistakable  reverberation 
rolled  forth  like  the  smothered  sound  of  a  subterranean 
explosion;  it  was  followed  by  another  and  another — gun 
shots  fired  within  brick  walls  and  flag-paved  courtyards. 

It  shattered  that  sickening,  unending  suspense  which 
caused  the  pulse  to  flutter  and  the  breath  to  lag;  the 
crowd  gave  tongue  in  a  howl  of  hoarse  delight.  Then 
followed  a  peculiar  shrilling  chorus — that  familiar  signal 
known  as  the  "dago  whistle" — which  was  like  the  pierc 
ing  cry  of  lost  souls.  "Who  killa  da  Chief?"  screamed  the 
hoodlums,  then  puckered  their  lips  and  piped  again  that 
mocking  signal.  As  the  booming  of  the  guns  continued, 

317 


THE   NET 

now  singly,  now  in  volley,  the  maddened  populace  squeezed 
toward  that  narrow  entrance  through  which  the  avengers 
had  disappeared;  but  they  were  halted  by  the  guards 
and  forced  to  content  themselves  by  greeting  every  shot 
with  an  exultant  cry.  The  streets  in  all  directions  were 
tossing  and  billowing  like  the  waves  of  the  sea;  men 
capered  and  flung  their  arms  aloft,  shrieking;  women  and 
children  waved  their  aprons  and  kerchiefs,  sobbing  and 
spent  with  excitement.  It  was  a  wild  and  grotesque 
scene,  unspeakably  terrible,  inhumanly  ferocious. 

Through  it  the  two  Sicilian  girls  clung  to  each  other, 
fainting,  revolted,  fascinated.  When  they  could  summon 
strength  they  descended  to  the  street  and  fought  their 
way  out  of  the  bedlam. 

Norvin  Blake  was  not  a  willing  participant  in  the 
lynching,  although  he  had  gone  to  the  meeting  at  Clay 
Statue  determined  to  do  what  he  considered  his  duty. 
He  had  felt  no  doubt  as  to  the  outcome  of  the  mass-meet 
ing  even  before  he  saw  its  giant  proportions,  and  even 
before  it  had  sounded  its  approval  of  the  first  speaker's 
words,  for  he  knew  how  deeply  his  townspeople  were 
stirred  by  the  astounding  miscarriage  of  justice.  At  the 
rally  of  the  Committee  on  the  afternoon  previous  it  had 
been  urged  to  proceed  with  the  execution  at  once,  and  the 
counsel  of  the  more  conservative  had  barely  prevailed. 
Blake  knew  perhaps  better  than  his  companions  to  what 
lengths  the  rage  of  a  mob  will  go,  and  he  confessed  to  a 
secret  fear  of  the  result.  Therefore,  although  he  marched 
in  the  vanguard  of  the  storming  party,  it  was  more  to 
exercise  a  restraining  influence  and  to  prevent  violence 
against  unoffending  foreigners,  than  to  take  part  in  the 
demonstration.  As  for  the  actual  shedding  of  blood,  his 
instinct  revolted  from  it,  while  his  reason  recognized  its 
necessity  and  defended  it. 

Bernie  Dreux's  amazing  assumption  of  dictatorship  had 
relieved  him  of  the  duty  of  heading  the  mob,  a  thing 


THE    APPEAL 

for  which  he  was  profoundly  grateful.  When  the  main 
body  of  vigilantes  had  armed  itself,  he  fell  in  beside  his 
friend  with  some  notion  of  helping  and  protecting  him. 
But  the  little  man  proved  amply  equal  to  the  occasion. 
He  was  unwaveringly  grim  and  determined.  It  was  he 
who  faced  the  oaken  gate  and  demanded  entrance  in  the 
name  of  the  people;  it  was  he  who  suggested  the  use  of 
the  battering-ram ;  and  it  was  he  who  first  fought  his  way 
through  the  breach,  at  the  risk  of  bullets  from  within. 
Blake  followed  to  find  him  with  his  fowling-piece  at  the 
head  of  the  prison  captain,  and  demanding  the  keys  to 
the  cells. 

The  posse  had  gained  a  partial  entrance,  but  another 
iron-ribbed  door  withheld  them  from  the  body  of  the 
prison,  and  there  followed  a  delay  while  this  was  broken 
down.  Meanwhile,  from  within  came  the  sound  of  turn 
ing  locks  and  of  clanging  steel  doors,  also  a  shuffling  of 
many  feet  and  cries  of  mortal  terror,  which  told  that 
the  prisoners  had  been  freed  to  shift  for  themselves  in 
this  extremity. 

In  truth,  a  scene  was  being  enacted  within  more  ter 
rible  than  that  outside,  for  as  the  deputies  released  the 
prisoners,  commanding  them  to  save  themselves  if  they 
could,  a  frightful  confusion  ensued.  Not  only  did  the 
eleven  Sicilians  cry  to  God,  but  the  other  inmates  of  the 
place  who  feared  their  crimes  had  overtaken  them  joined 
in  the  appeal.  Men  and  women,  negroes  and  whites, 
felons  and  minor  evil-doers,  rushed  to  and  fro  along  the 
galleries  and  passageways,  fighting  with  one  another, 
tearing  one  another  from  places  of  refuge,  seeking  new  and 
securer  points  of  safety.  They  huddled  in  dark  corners; 
they  crept  under  beds,  beneath  stairways,  and  into 
barrels.  They  burrowed  into  rubbish  piles  only  to  be 
dragged  out  by  the  hair  or  the  heels  and  to  see  their 
jealous  companions  seize  upon  these  sanctuaries. 

Terror  is  swiftly  contagious;    the  whole  place  became 


THE    NET 

a  seething  pit  of  dismay.  Some  knelt  and  prayed,  while 
others  trampled  upon  them;  they  rose  from  their  knees 
to  beat  with  bleeding  fists  upon  barred  doors  and  blind 
partitions;  but  as  their  fear  of  death  increased  and  the 
chorus  of  their  despair  mounted  higher  there  came  an 
other  pounding,  nearer,  louder — the  sound  of  splitting 
wood  and  of  rending  metal.  To  escape  was  impossible; 
to  remain  was  madness;  of  hiding-places  there  was  a  fear 
ful  scarcity. 

The  regulators  came  rushing  into  the  prison  proper, 
with  footsteps  echoing  loudly  through  the  barren  cor 
ridors.  Out  into  the  open  court  they  swarmed,  then  up 
the  iron  stairways  to  the  galleries  that  ringed  it  about, 
peering  into  cells  as  they  went,  ousting  the  wretched 
inmates  from  remotest  corners.  But  the  chamber  in 
which  they  knew  their  quarry  had  been  housed  was  empty, 
so  they  paused  undecided,  while  from  all  sides  came  the 
smothered  sounds  of  terror  like  the  mewling  and  squeak 
ing  of  mice  hidden  in  a  wall. 

Suddenly  some  one  shouted,  "There  they  are!"  and 
pointed  to  the  topmost  gallery,  which  ran  in  front  of  the 
condemned  cells.  A  rush  began,  but  at  the  top  of  the 
winding  stairs  another  grating  barred  the  way.  Through 
this,  however,  could  be  seen  Salvatore  di  Marco,  Giordano 
Bolla,  and  the  elder  Cressi.  The  three  Sicilians  had  fled 
to  this  last  stronghold,  slammed  the  steel  door  behind 
them,  and  now  crouched  in  the  shelter  of  a  brick  column. 
Some  one  hammered  at  the  lock,  and  the  terrified  prison 
ers  started  to  their  feet  with  an  agonized  appeal  for  mercy. 
As  they  exposed  themselves  to  view  a  man  fired  through 
the  bars.  His  aim  was  true;  Di  Marco  flung  his  arms 
aloft  and  pitched  forward  on  his  face.  Crazed  by  this, 
his  two  companions  rushed  madly  back  and  forth;  but 
they  were  securely  penned  in,  and  appeal  was  futile. 
Another  shot  boomed  deafeningly  in  the  close  confines  of 
the  place,  and  Cressi  plunged  to  his  death;  then  Bolla 

320 


THE    APPEAL 

followed,  his  bloody  hands  gripping  the  bars,  his  face  up 
turned  in  a  hideous  grimace,  and  his  eyes,  which  stared 
through  at  his  slayers,  glazing  slowly. 

Down  the  ringing  stairs  marched  the  grim-featured 
men  who  had  set  themselves  this  task,  and  among  them 
Bernie  Dreux  strode,  issuing  orders.  The  weapon  in  his 
hand  was  hot,  his  shoulder  was  bruised,  for  he  had  long 
been  unaccustomed  to  the  use  of  firearms. 

Then  began  a  systematic  search  of  the  men's  depart 
ment  of  the  prison;  but  no  new  victims  were  discovered, 
only  the  ordinary  prisoners  who  were  well-nigh  speechless 
with  fright. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  went  up  the  cry,  and  some  one 
answered: 

"On  the  women's  side." 

The  band  passed  through  to  the  adjoining  portion  of  the 
double  building,  and,  keys  having  been  secured,  the 
rapidity  of  their  search  increased.  Into  the  twin  court 
yard  they  filed;  then  while  some  investigated  the  cook 
house  others  climbed  to  the  topmost  tier  of  cells.  As 
the  quest  narrowed,  six  of  the  Sicilians,  who  had  lain  con 
cealed  in  a  compartment  on  the  first  floor,  broke  out  in 
a  desperate  endeavor  to  escape,  but  they  were  caught 
between  the  opposing  ranks,  as  in  the  jaws  of  a  trap. 
The  cell  door  clanged  to  behind  them;  they  found  them 
selves  at  bay  in  the  open  yard.  Resistance  was  useless; 
they  sank  to  their  knees  and  set  up  a  cry  for  mercy. 
They  shrieked,  they  sobbed,  they  groveled;  but  their 
enemies  were  open  to  no  appeal,  untouched  by  any  sense 
of  compunction.  They  were  men  wholly  dominated  by 
a  single  fixed  idea,  as  merciless  as  machines. 

There  followed  a  nightmare  scene ;  a  horrid,  bellowing 
uproar  of  voices  and  detonations,  of  groans  and  prayers 
and  curses.  The  armed  men  emptied  their  weapons 
blindly  into  that  writhing  tangle  of  forms,  and  as  one 
finished  he  stepped  back  while  another  took  his  place. 
21  321 


THE    NET 

The  prison  rocked  with  the  din  of  it;  the  wretches  were 
shot  to  pieces,  riddled,  by  that  horizontal  hail  which 
mowed  and  mangled  like  an  invisible  scythe.  Now  a 
figure  struggled  to  its  feet  only  to  become  the  target  for 
a  fusillade;  again  one  twisted  in  his  agony  only  to  be 
filled  with  missiles  fired  from  so  short  a  range  that  his 
garments  were  torn  to  rags.  The  pavement  became  wet 
and  slippery;  in  one  brief  moment  that  section  of  the  yard 
became  a  shambles. 

Then  men  went  up  and  poked  among  the  bodies  with 
the  hot  muzzles  of  their  rifles,  turning  the  corpses  over  for 
identification;  and  as  each  stark  face  was  recognized  a 
name  went  echoing  out  through  the  dingy  corridors  to 
the  mob  beyond. 

Larubio,  the  cobbler,  had  attempted  a  daring  ruse. 
The  firing  had  ceased  when  up  out  of  that  limp  and  sod 
den  heap  he  rose,  his  gray  hair  matted,  his  garments 
streaming.  They  thrust  their  rifles  against  his  chest  and 
killed  him  quickly. 

Nine  men  had  died  by  now,  and  only  two  remained, 
Normando  and  Maruffi.  The  former  was  found  shortly, 
where  he  had  squeezed  himself  into  a  dog-kennel  which 
stood  under  the  stairs;  but  the  vigilantes,  it  seemed,  had 
had  enough  of  slaughter,  so  he  was  rushed  into  the  street, 
where  the  crowd  tore  him  to  pieces  as  wolves  rend  a  rab 
bit.  Even  his  garments  were  ripped  to  rags  and  dis 
tributed  as  ghastly  souvenirs. 

Norvin  Blake  had  been  a  witness  to  only  a  part  of  this 
brutality,  but  what  he  had  seen  had  sickened  him,  and 
had  increased  his  determination  to  find  Gino  Cressi.  He 
shared  not  at  all  in  the  sanguinary  exaltation  which  pos 
sessed  his  fellow- townsmen;  instead  he  longed  for  the 
end  and  hoped  he  would  be  able  to  forget  what  he  had 
seen.  He  would  have  fled  but  for  his  fear  of  what  might 
happen  to  the  Cressi  boy.  Corridor  after  corridor  he 
searched,  peering  into  cells,  under  cots,  into  corners  and 

322 


THE    APPEAL 

crannies,  while  through  the  cavernous  old  building  the 
other  hunters  stormed.  He  was  hard  pressed  to  keep 
ahead  of  them,  and  when  he  finally  found  the  lad  they 
were  close  at  his  heels. 

They  came  upon  him  with  the  lad  clinging  to  his  knees, 
and  a  shout  went  up. 

"Here's  the  Cressi  kid.  He  gave  the  signal;  let  him 
have  it!" 

But  Norvin  turned  upon  them,  saying: 

"You  can't  kill  this  boy." 

"Step  aside,  Blake,"  ordered  a  red-faced  man,  raising 
and  cocking  his  weapon. 

Norvin  seized  the  rifle-barrel  and  turned  it  aside  rough 
ly.  The  two  stared  at  each  other  with  angry  eyes. 

"He's  only  a  baby,  don't  you  understand?  Good  God! 
You  have  children  of  your  own." 

"I— I—"  The  fellow  hesitated.  "So  he  is.  Damna 
tion!  What  has  come  over  me?"  He  lowered  his  gun 
and  turned  against  the  others  who  were  clamoring  behind 
him.  "This  is — awful,"  he  murmured,  shakingly,  when 
the  crowd  had  passed  on.  "I've  done  all  I  intend  to."  He 
flung  his  rifle  from  him  with  a  gesture  of  repugnance,  and 
went  out  of  the  cell. 

Norvin  continued  to  stand  guard  over  his  charge  while 
the  search  for  Maruffi  went  on,  for  he  dared  not  trust 
these  men  who  had  gone  mad.  Thus  he  did  not  learn 
that  his  arch  enemy  had  been  taken  until  he  saw  him 
rushed  past  in  the  hands  of  his  captors.  Caesar  had  fought 
as  best  he  could  against  overwhelming  odds,  and  con 
tinued  to  resist  now  in  a  blind  fury;  but  a  rope  was  about 
his  neck,  at  the  end  of  which  were  a  dozen  running  men; 
a  dozen  gun-butts  hustled  him  on  his  way  to  the  open 
air.  Blake  closed  the  cell  door  upon  Gino  Cressi  and  fol 
lowed,  drawn  by  a  magnetic  force  he  could  not  resist. 

The  main  gate  of  the  prison  opened  before  the  rush  of 
that  tangled,  growling  handful  of  men,  and  they  swept 

323 


THE   NET 

straight  out  into  the  turmoil  that  filled  the  streets.  An 
instant  later  Maruffi  was  beset  by  five  thousand  maniacs; 
he  was  kicked,  he  was  beaten,  he  was  spat  upon,  he 
was  overwhelmed  by  an  avalanche  of  humanity.  His 
progress  to  the  gallows  was  a  short  but  a  terrible  one, 
marked  by  a  series  of  violent  whirlpools  which  set  through 
that  river  of  people.  The  uproar  was  deafening;  spec 
tators  screamed  hoarsely,  but  did  not  hear  their  voices. 

From  where  Blake  paused  beside  the  gate  he  traced 
the  Sicilian's  progress  plainly,  marveling  at  the  fellow's 
vitality,  for  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  human  being 
could  withstand  that  onslaught.  A  coil  of  rope  sailed 
upward,  a  negro  perched  in  a  tree  passed  it  over  a  limb, 
and  the  next  instant  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  Capo- 
Mafia  rose  above  the  dense  level  of  standing  forms.  He 
was  writhing  horribly,  but,  seizing  the  rope  with  his  hands, 
he  drew  himself  upward;  his  blackened  face  glared  down 
upon  his  executioners.  The  grinning  negro  kicked  at  the 
dark  head  beneath  him,  once,  twice,  three  times,  so  violent 
ly  that  he  lost  his  balance  and  fell,  whereupon  a  bellowing 
shout  of  laughter  arose  more  terrible  than  any  sound 
heretofore.  Still  the  Sicilian  clung  to  the  rope  which  was 
strangling  him.  Then  puffs  of  smoke  curled  up  in  the  sun 
shine,  and  the  crowd  rolled  back  upon  itself,  leaving  the 
gibbet  ringed  with  armed  men.  Maruffi's  body  was  swayed 
and  spun  as  if  by  invisible  hands;  his  fingers  slipped; 
he  settled  downward. 

Blake  turned  and  hid  his  face  against  the  cold,  damp 
walls,  for  he  was  very  sick. 


XXVI 

AT   THE   DUSK 

WITHIN  two  days  the  city  had  regained  its  customary 
calm.  It  had,  in  fact,  settled  down  to  a  more  placid 
mood  than  at  any  time  since  the  murder  of  Chief  Don 
nelly.  Immediately  after  the  lynching  the  citizens  had 
dispersed  to  their  homes.  No  prisoners  except  the  Mafiosi 
had  been  harmed,  and  of  those  who  had  been  sought 
not  one  had  escaped.  The  damage  to  the  parish  prison 
did  not  amount  to  fifty  dollars.  Through  the  community 
spread  a  feeling  of  satisfaction,  which  horror  at  the  ter 
rible  details  of  the  slaughter  could  not  destroy.  There 
was  nowhere  the  slightest  effort  at  dodging  responsibility; 
those  who  had  led  in  the  assault  were  the  best-known 
citizens  and  openly  acknowledged  their  parts.  It  was 
realized  now,  even  more  fully  than  before  the  event,  that 
the  course  pursued  had  been  the  only  one  compatible  with 
public  safety;  and,  while  every  one  deplored  the  necessity 
of  lynchings  in  general,  there  was  no  regret  at  this  one, 
shocking  as  it  had  been. 

This  state  of  mind  was  reflected  by  the  local  press,  and, 
for  that  matter,  by  the  press  of  all  the  [Southern  cities 
where  the  gravity  of  the  situation  had  become  known, 
while  to  lend  it  further  countenance,  the  Cotton  Exchange, 
the  Board  of  Trade,  and  the  Chamber  of  Commerce 
promptly  passed  resolutions  commending  the  action  of 
the  vigilance  committee.  There  was  some  talk  of  legal  pro 
ceedings  ;  but  no  one  took  it  seriously,  except  the  police, 
who  felt  obliged  to  excuse  their  dereliction.  Of  course, 

325 


THE   NET 

the  stir  was  national — international,  indeed,  since  Italy 
demanded  particulars;  but,  serene  in  the  sense  of  an  un 
pleasant  duty  thoroughly  performed,  New  Orleans  did 
not  trouble  to  explain,  except  by  a  bare  recital  of  facts. 

In  spite  of  the  passive  part  he  had  played,  Blake  was 
perhaps  more  deeply  affected  by  the  doings  at  the  prison 
than  any  other  member  of  the  party,  and  during  the  in 
terval  that  followed  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  see  Vit- 
toria.  There  was  a  double  reason  for  this,  for  he  not 
only  recalled  their  last  interview  with  consternation,  but 
he  still  had  a  guilty  feeling  about  Myra  Nell.  On  the 
second  afternoon  after  the  lynching  Bernie  Dreux  dropped 
in  to  tell  him  of  his  sister's  return  from  Mobile. 

"She  read  that  I  took  a  hand  in  the  fuss,"  Bernie  ex 
plained,  "but,  of  course,  she  has  no  idea  I  did  so  much 
actual  shooting.  When  she  told  me  she  was  going  to 
see  you  this  afternoon,  I  came  to  warn  you  not  to  ex 
pose  me." 

"Do  you  regret  your  part?" 

"Not  the  least  bit.     I'm  merely  surprised  at  myself." 

"You  surprised  all  your  friends,"  Blake  said,  with  a 
smile.  "You  seem  to  have  changed  lately." 

In  truth,  the  difference  in  Dreux's  bearing  was  note 
worthy,  and  many  had  remarked  upon  it.  The  dignity 
and  force  which  had  enveloped  the  little  beau  for  the 
first  time  when  he  stood  before  the  assembled  thousands 
still  clung  to  him;  his  eyes  were  steady  and  bright  and 
purposeful ;  he  had  lost  his  wavering,  deprecatory  manner. 

"Yes,  I've  just  come  of  age,"  he  declared,  with  some 
satisfaction.  "I  realize  that  I'm  free,  white,  and  twenty- 
one,  for  the  first  time.  I'm  going  to  quit  idling  and  do 
something." 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  marry  Felicite",  to  begin  with,  then 
maybe  some  of  my  friends  will  give  me  a  job." 

"I  will,"  said  Blake. 

326 


AT   THE    DUSK 

"Thanks,  but — I'd  rather  impose  on  somebody  else  at 
the  start.  I  want  to  make  good  on  my  own  merits, 
understand?  I've  lived  off  my  relatives  long  enough. 
It's  just  as  bad  to  let  the  deceased  members  of  your 
family  support  you  as  to  allow  the  live  ones — " 

"Bernie!"  Blake  interrupted,  gravely.  "I'm  afraid  I 
won't  marry  Myra  Nell." 

"You  think  she  won't  have  you,  eh?  She  has  been 
acting  queerly  of  late;  but  leave  it  to  me." 

Norvin  was  spared  the  necessity  of  further  explanation 
by  the  arrival  of  the  girl  herself.  Miss  Warren  seemed 
strangely  lacking  in  her  usual  abundance  of  animal 
spirits;  she  was  obviously  ill  at  ease,  and  the  sight  of  her 
brother  did  not  lessen  her  embarrassment.  During  the 
brief  interchange  of  pleasantries  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
Blake  with  a  troubled  gaze. 

"We — I  just  ran  in  for  a  moment,"  she  said,  and  seemed 
upon  the  point  of  leaving  after  inquiring  solicitously  about 
his  health. 

"My  dear,"  said  Bernie,  with  elaborate  unction,  "Nor 
vin  and  I  have  just  been  discussing  your  engagement." 

Miss  Warren  gasped  and  turned  pale;  Blake  stammered. 

With  a  desperate  effort  the  girl  inquired: 

"D-do  you  love  me,  Norvin?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"See!"    Bernie  nodded  his  satisfaction. 

"Oh,  Lordy!"  said  Myra  Nell.  "I — can't  marry  you, 
dear." 

"What?"  Blake  knew  that  his  expression  was  chang 
ing,  and  tried  to  stifle  his  relief. 

As  for  Bernie,  he  flushed  angrily,  and  his  voice  rang 
with  his  newly  born  determination. 

"Don't  be  silly.  Didn't  he  just  say  he  loved  you? 
And,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  look  so  scared.  We  won't 
devour  you." 

"I  can't  marry  him,"  declared  the  girl,  once  more. 

327 


THE   NET 

"Why?" 

"Be-because  I'm  already  married!  There!  Jimmy! 
I've  been  trying  to  get  that  out  for  a  month." 

Dreux  gasped.     "Myra  Nell!    You're  crazy!" 

She  nodded,  then  turned  to  Blake  with  a  look  of  en 
treaty. 

"  P-please  don't  kill  yourself,  dear?    I  couldn't  help  it." 

"Why,  you  poor  frightened  little  thing!  I'm  delighted! 
I  am  indeed,"  he  told  her,  reassuringly. 

"Don't  you  care?  Aren't  you  going  to  storm  and — 
and  raise  the  dickens?"  she  queried.  "Maybe  this  is 
your  way  of  hiding  your  despair?" 

"Not  at  all.     I'm  glad — so  long  as  you're  happy." 

"And  you're  not  mad  with  anguish  nor  crushed  with — 
Why,  the  idea!  I'm  perfectly  furious!  I  ran  away  be 
cause  I  was  afraid  of  you,  and  I  haven't  seen  my  husband 
once,  not  once,  do  you  understand,  since  we  were  mar 
ried.  Oh,  you — brute!" 

By  this  time  Dreux  had  recovered  his  power  of  speech, 
and  yelled  in  furious  voice: 

"Who  is  the  reptile?" 

There  came  a  timid  rap,  the  office  door  opened,  and 
Lecompte  Rilleau  inserted  his  head,  saying  gently: 

"Me!     I!     I'm  it!" 

Blake  rose  so  suddenly  that  his  chair  upset,  whereupon 
Rilleau,  who  saw  in  this  abrupt  movement  a  threat,  pro 
pelled  himself  fully  into  view,  crying  with  determination: 

"Here!  Don't  you  touch  her!  She's  mine!  You 
take  it  out  of  me!" 

Blake's  answering  laugh  seemed  so  out  of  character 
that  the  bridegroom  took  it  as  merely  a  new  phase  of 
insanity,  and  edged  in  front  of  his  wife  protectingly. 

"I  wanted  to  come  in  at  first  and  break  the  news,  but 
she  wouldn't  let  me,"  he  explained. 

"You  have  a  weak  heart.  You — you  mustn't  fight!" 
implored  Myra  Nell;  but  Lecompte  only  shrugged. 

328 


'  — ,  tUfc. 


'P-PLEASE    DON'T     KILL    YOURSELF,    DEAR?      I    COULDN'T    HELP    IT* 


AT    THE    DUSK 

"That's  all  a  bluff."  Then  to  Norvin:  "I'll  admit 
it  was  a  mean  trick,  and  I  guess  my  heart  really  might 
have  petered  out  if  she'd  married  you;  but  I'm  all  right 
now,  and  you  can  have  satisfaction." 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  be  angry  or  amused  at  you 
children,"  Norvin  told  them.  "Understand,  once  for 
all,  that  our  engagement  wasn't  serious.  There  have 
been  a  lot  of  mistakes  and  misunderstandings — that's  all. 
Now  tell  us  how  and  when  this  all  happened." 

"Y-yes!"  echoed  Bernie,  who  was  still  dazed. 

Myra  Nell  seemed  more  chagrined  than  relieved. 

"It  was  perfectly  simple,"  she  informed  them.  "It 
happened  during  the  Carnival.  I — never  heard  a  man 
talk  the  way  he  did,  and  I  was  really  worried  about  his 
heart.  I  said  no — for  fifteen  minutes,  then  we  arranged 
to  be  married  secretly.  When  it  was  all  over,  I  was 
frightened  and  ran  away.  You're  such  a  deep,  desperate, 
unforgiving  person,  Norvin.  I — I  think  it  was  positively 
horrid  of  you." 

"Good  Lord!"  breathed  her  brother.  "What  a  per 
verted  sense  of  responsibility!" 

"Are  we  forgiven?" 

"It's  all  right  with  me,  if  it  is  with  Norvin,"  said  Ber 
nie,  somewhat  doubtfully. 

"Forgiven?"  Blake  took  the  youthful  pair  by  the 
hands,  and  in  his  eyes  was  a  brightness  they  had  never 
seen.  "Of  course  you  are,  and  let  me  tell  you  that  you 
haven't  cornered  all  the  love  in  the  world.  I've  never 
cared  but  for  one  woman.  Perhaps  you  will  wish  me  as 
much  happiness  as  I  wish  you  both?" 

"Then  you  have  found  your  Italian  girl?"  queried 
Myra  Nell,  with  flashing  eagerness. 

"Vittoria!" 

"Vittoria!"  Miss  Warren  shrieked.  "Vittoria  —  a 
countess!  So,  she's  the  one  who  spoiled  everything?" 

"Gee!    You'll  be  a  count,"  said  Rilleau. 

329 


THE   NET 

There  followed  a  period  of  laughing,  incoherent  ex 
planations,  and  then  the  beaming  bridegroom  tugged  at 
Myra  Nell's  sleeve,  saying:  . 

"Now  that  it's  all  over,  I'm  mighty  tired  of  being  a 
widower." 

She  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  lifted  her  blush 
ing  face  to  his,  explaining  to  her  half-brother,  when  she 
could: 

"I  don't  know  what  you'll  do  without  some  one  to 
look  after  you,  Bernie,  but — it's  perfectly  grand  to 
elope." 

Dreux  rose  with  a  grin  and  winked  at  Norvin  as  he 
said: 

"Oh,  don't  mind  me.  I'll  get  along  all  right."  And 
seizing  his  hat  he  rushed  out  with  his  thin  face  all  ablaze. 

When  Blake  was  finally  alone,  he  closed  his  desk  and 
with  bounding  heart  set  out  for  the  foreign  quarter.  His 
day  had  dawned;  he  could  hardly  contain  himself.  But, 
as  he  neared  his  goal,  strange  doubts  and  indecisions 
arose  in  his  mind;  and  when  he  had  reached  Oliveta's 
house  he  passed  on,  lacking  courage  to  enter.  He  de 
cided  it  was  too  soon  after  the  tragedy  at  the  parish 
prison  to  press  his  suit;  that  to  intrude  himself  now  would 
be  in  offensively  bad  taste.  Then,  too,  he  began  to  reason 
that  if  Margherita  had  wished  to  see  him  she  would  have 
sent  for  him — all  in  all,  the  hour  was  decidedly  unpro- 
pitious.  He  dared  not  risk  his  future  happiness  upon  a 
blundering,  ill-timed  declaration;  therefore  he  walked 
onward.  But  no  sooner  had  he  passed  the  house  than  a 
thousand  voices  urged  him  to  return,  in  this  the  hour  of 
the  girl's  loneliness,  and  lay  his  devotion  at  her  feet. 
Torn  thus  by  hesitation  and  by  the  sense  of  his  unworthi- 
ness,  he  walked  the  streets,  hour  after  hour.  At  one  mo 
ment  he  approached  the  house  desperately  determined; 
the  next  he  fled,  mastered  by  the  fear  of  dismissal.  So 
he  continued  his  miserable  wanderings  on  into  the  dusk. 

330 


AT   THE    DUSK 

Twilight  was  settling  when  Margherita  Ginini  finished 
her  packing.  The  big  living-room  was  stripped  of  its 
furnishings;  trunks  and  cases  stood  about  in  a  desolate 
confusion.  There  was  no  look  of  home  or  comfort  re 
maining  anywhere,  and  the  whole  house  echoed  dismally 
to  her  footsteps.  From  the  rear  came  the  sound  of 
Oliveta's  listless  preparations. 

Pausing  at  an  open  window,  Margherita  looked  down 
upon  the  street  which  she  had  grown  to  love — the  sug 
gestion  of  darkness  had  softened  it,  mellowed  it  with  a 
twilight  beauty,  like  the  face  of  an  old  friend  seen  in  the 
glow  of  lamplight.  The  shouting  of  urchins  at  play 
floated  upward,  stirring  the  chords  of  motherhood  in  her 
breast  and  emphasizing  her  loneliness.  With  Oliveta 
gone  what  would  be  left?  Nothing  but  an  austere  life 
compressed  within  drab  walls;  nothing  but  sickness  and 
suffering  on  every  side.  She  had  begun  to  think  a  great 
deal  about  those  walls  of  late  and —  The  bells  of  a  con 
vent  pealed  out  softly  in  the  distance,  bringing  a  tight 
ness  to  her  throat.  In  spite  of  herself  she  shuddered. 
Those  laughing  children's  voices  mocked  at  her  empty 
life.  They  seemed  always  to  jeer  at  that  hungry  mother- 
love,  but  never  quite  so  loudly  as  now.  She  remembered 
surprising  Norvin  Blake  at  play  with  these  very  children 
one  day,  and  the  half-abashed,  half-defiant  light  in  his 
eyes  when  he  discovered  her  watching  him.  Thinking  of 
him,  she  recalled  just  such  another  twilight  hour  as  this 
when,  in  a  whirl  of  shamed  emotion,  she  had  been  com 
pelled  to  face  the  fact  of  her  love.  A  sudden  trembling 
weakness  seized  her  at  the  memory,  and  she  saw  again 
those  cold  gray  walls,  which  never  echoed  to  the  gleeful 
crowing  of  babes  or  the  thrilling  merriment  of  little  voices. 
In  that  brief  hour  of  her  awakening  life  had  opened  glori 
ously,  bewilderingly,  only  to  close  again,  leaving  Ijer  soul 
bruised  and  sore  with  rebellion. 

She  crossed  the  floor  listlessly  in  answer  to  a  knock, 


for  the  repeated  attentions  of  her  neighbors,  although 
sincere  and  touching,  were  intrusive;  then  she  fell  back 
at  sight  of  the  man  who  entered. 

The  magic  of  this  evening  hour  had  brought  him  to  her 
in  spite  of  all  his  fears;  but  his  heart  was  in  his  throat, 
and  he  could  hardly  manage  a  greeting.  As  he  passed  the 
threshold  of  the  disordered  room  he  looked  round  him  in 
dismay. 

"What  is'this?"  he  asked. 

"  Oliveta  is  going  home  to  Sicily.     It  is  our  parting." 

"And  you?" 

"To-morrow — I  go  to  the  Sisters." 

"No,  no!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  which  thrilled  her.  "I 
won't  let  you.  For  hours  I've  been  trying  to  come  here — 
Dearest,  don't  answer  until  you  know  everything.  Some 
times  I  fear  I  was  the  one  who  was  dreaming  at  that 
moment  when  you  confessed  you  loved  me,  for  it  is  all 
so  unreal —  But  my  love  is  not  unreal.  It  has  lived 
with  me  night  and  day  since  that  first  moment  at  Ter- 
ranova —  I  couldn't  speak  before,  but  all  these  years 
seem  only  hours,  and  I've  been  living  in  the  gardens  of 
Sicily  where  you  first  smiled  at  me  and  awoke  this 
love.  You  asked  me  to  take  no  part —  I  had  to  re 
fuse —  I've  tried  to  make  a  man  of  myself,  not  for  my 
own  sake,  not  for  what  the  world  would  say,  but  for 
you — " 

In  the  tumult  of  feeling  that  his  words  aroused  she 
held  fast  to  one  thought. 

"What — what  about  Myra  Nell?"  she  gasped. 

"Myra  Nell  is  married!" 

The  curling  lashes  which  had  lain  half  closed  during 
his  headlong  speech  flew  open  to  display  a  look  of  won 
derment  and  dawning  gladness. 

"Yes,"  he  reiterated.  "She  is  married.  She  has  been 
married  ever  since  the  Carnival,  and  she's  very  happy. 
But  I  didn't  know.  I  was  tied  by  a  miserable  misunder- 

332 


AT   THE    DUSK 

standing,  so  I  couldn't  come  to  you  honestly  until  to 
day.  And  now — I — I'm — afraid — " 

"What  do  you  fear?"  she  heard  herself  say.  The 
breathless  delight  of  this  moment  was  so  intense  that  she 
toyed  with  it,  fearing  to  lose  the  smallest  part.  She 
withheld  the  confession  trembling  upon  her  lips  which 
he  was  too  timid  to  take  for  granted,  too  blind  to  see. 

"Can  you  take  me,  in  spite  of  my  wretched  cowardice 
back  there  in  Sicily?  I  would  understand,  dear,  if  you 
couldn't  forget  it,  but — I  love  you  so —  I  tried  so  hard 
to  make  myself  worthy — you'll  never  know  how  hard  it 
was —  I  couldn't  do  what  you  asked  me,  the  other  day, 
but,  thank  God,  my  hands  are  clean." 

He  held  them  out  as  if  in  evidence;  then,  to  his  great, 
his  never-ending  surprise,  she  came  forward  and  placed 
her  two  palms  in  his.  She  stood  looking  gravely  at  him, 
her  surrender  plain  in  the  curve  of  her  tremulous  lip,  the 
droop  of  her  faltering,  silk-fringed  lids. 

Knowledge  came  to  him  with  a  blinding,  suffocating 
suddenness  which  set  his  brain  to  reeling  and  wrung  a 
rapturous  cry  from  his  throat. 

After  a  long  time  he  felt  her  shudder  in  his  arms. 

"What  is  it,  heart  of  my  life?"  he  whispered,  without 
lifting  his  lips  from  her  tawny  cloud  of  hair. 

"Those  walls!"  she  said.     "Those  cold,  gray  walls!" 

A  sob  rose,  caught,  then  changed  to  a  laugh  of  deep 
contentment,  and  she  nestled  closer. 

Children's  voices  were  wafted  up  to  them  through  the 
fragrant,  peaceful  dusk,  and  the  two  fell  silent  again, 
until  Oliveta  came  and  stood  beside  them  with  her  face 
transfigured. 

"God  be  praised!"  said  the  peasant  girl,  as  she  put  her 
hands  in  theirs.  "Something  told  me  I  should  not  re-< 
turn  to  Sicily  alone." 


THE    END, 


DATE  DUE 


_  '       li         ill   m 


